Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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Stiles shoved the front door open with his shoulder, arms full of books and a half finished bag of chips dangling from his mouth. “Dad, I swear if you forgot to get milk again, I’m staging a coup-”

He froze mid sentence, chips crinkling in one hand, as his eyes landed on Derek Hale sitting at their kitchen table.

Derek looked like hell. His shoulders were hunched, hands clenched together on the table like he was holding himself together through sheer will. His eyes were bloodshot - not red, but tired. Raw. His usual permanent scowl was replaced with something worse. Something like confusion with nowhere to go.

Stiles blinked, then looked to his dad, who stood at the counter with two mugs of coffee. One for himself. One for Derek. His dad didn’t make coffee for just anyone.

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked, concern creeping into his voice. “Is someone dead?”

Noah shot him a look over his shoulder. “Mind your business, Stiles.”

Stiles scoffed and dumped his books on the table, nearly knocking over a salt shaker. “Are you serious? Derek is my Alpha. That makes it my business.”

For a second, silence stretched between them. Stiles felt Derek’s eyes on him - measured, cautious - but then, to his surprise, Derek’s mouth tugged into the barest hint of a smirk. Like he was amused by Stiles’ stubbornness, or maybe just grateful for the distraction.

“I’m having a baby,” Derek said simply.

Stiles stared. “What?”

“I’m having a baby,” he repeated, quieter this time. “Well, not me, obviously. A girl I… met. After Laura died.”

Stiles blinked. “Wait - what girl?”

“She’s not important,” Derek said. “I don’t know her. We only… it was just one night. I was out, and she started talking to me. I didn’t even remember her name until she contacted me today.”

“Today?” Stiles echoed, brain still buffering.

“She’s delivering the baby tomorrow,” Derek said. “She doesn’t want him. Said she can’t take care of him. She’s giving me full custody.”

Stiles sat down slowly, like his legs had stopped working. His eyes flicked to his dad, who was watching Derek with something close to fatherly concern. Not the cop look. The dad look.

“You came here for advice?” Stiles asked Derek, softer now.

Derek nodded, and the vulnerability in that tiny movement hit Stiles like a punch to the chest.

His heart squeezed, warm and heavy.

Of all the people Derek could’ve gone to, he came here.

To his dad.

Stiles swallowed. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. So… what do you need?”

Derek rubbed his hands over his face, fingers digging into his eyes like he could scrub the exhaustion out of his skull. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he muttered. “A baby? I don’t even have a crib. I’ve got nothing.”

“You’ve got us,” Noah said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You and the baby can stay here until you’ve got a place of your own sorted out.”

Derek hesitated, jaw clenched. “I… I bought a loft,” he admitted. “After I became Alpha. It’s mine. But it’s being renovated, and it’s not ready. No doors on the rooms. No windows in half of them. Not really somewhere you’d put a kid.”

Stiles perked up. “We could clean out the basement,” he offered. “It’s not like we use it for anything but storing holiday decorations and whatever ancient crap you won’t let me throw out, Dad.”

Noah shot him a look but didn’t argue.

“It’s warm, quiet, private. We could set it up with a crib and stuff, baby proof it a little,” Stiles went on. “It’s not perfect, but it’s better than nothing.”

Derek looked like he might refuse on principle. Pride. Self preservation. Stiles could practically see the protest forming in his throat, but then Derek exhaled, all the fight draining out of his shoulders at once.

He nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said. “Yeah. Thank you.”

Noah just shook his head. “Pack helps pack. You need help right now. All of it.”

Something flickered in Derek’s expression; something grateful and raw and maybe a little terrified.

Stiles clapped his hands once. “Alright, Dad, you start clearing out the basement. Derek and I are hitting Target.”

Noah raised an eyebrow. “Do you even know what to buy?”

Stiles grinned, cocky and too confident. “Please. Like one of my late night Google deep dives didn’t end with me knowing everything there is to know about babies. Cribs. Diapers. Swaddling. The difference between formula types. I’m ready.”

Both Noah and Derek laughed, and for a second, the tension in the room broke. Just a little. Just enough.

Derek shook his head, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “God help this baby,” he muttered.

Noah nodded in agreement. “Amen.”
~~~~

“Wait,” Stiles said, pausing halfway down the front steps. “We’re taking my Jeep. Your Camaro has the trunk space of a large microwave.”

Derek opened his mouth to argue, but honestly… fair point.

Before he could say anything, Stiles dug into his jacket pocket, pulled out his keyring, and tossed the keys at him.

Derek caught them on instinct. He stared down at the familiar key fob, then up at Stiles with a furrowed brow. “You’re letting me drive your Jeep?”

Stiles shrugged like it was no big deal. “I have lists to make. I can’t drive.”

Derek blinked. “Lists?”

“Yeah. Lists. We’re not going in there unprepared. We need baby clothes, bottles, formula, diapers, like, eighty million diapers, wipes, baby soap, a crib, changing table, burp cloths-”

Derek was still stuck on the fact that Stiles had just handed him the keys to his beloved, beaten up, tank like Jeep without hesitation. “You’ve never let anyone drive this thing.”

Stiles looked over at him, an eyebrow raised. “You’re about to be responsible for a whole human baby, dude. I think I can trust you to drive my car.”

That… made Derek’s chest feel weird. Warm, maybe. Uncomfortable, definitely. He looked away before Stiles could read anything on his face.

He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Stiles was already in the passenger seat, scribbling furiously in a notebook, tongue sticking out in concentration.

Derek glanced at him again, and despite everything, his world being flipped upside down, the panic still thrumming low in his gut, he felt a small smile tug at his lips.

This was going to be hell.

But it was going to be good too.
~~~~

The automatic doors whooshed open, and Stiles marched inside like a man on a mission, notebook in one hand, cart in the other.

Derek followed more cautiously, looking around like he was preparing for a fight instead of a shopping trip. “This place is too bright.”

“Get used to it,” Stiles said. “It’s the only store in town that sells everything we need without judgment or suspicious glares. Now, first stop: baby stuff.”

Twenty minutes later, they were three aisles deep in the baby section, and Derek was barely holding it together.

Stiles had commandeered the cart, which was now half filled with essentials - diapers, wipes, formula, bottles, and an entire set of pacifiers in colors Derek was sure didn’t exist in nature.

Derek stood motionless in front of a wall of cribs, brow furrowed, clearly overwhelmed by the sheer number of options.

“This one converts into a toddler bed,” Stiles said, pointing to a sleek wooden model. “Efficient. Cost effective. Less screaming later.”

Derek just nodded, like he was being told state secrets.

They turned a corner, and suddenly Stiles made a soft, delighted sound. “Oh my God, look at this onesie.” He held up a tiny navy outfit with cartoon wolves on the front and matching socks with ears.

Derek blinked at it. “That’s a little on the nose.”

“Exactly,” Stiles grinned. “It’s thematic. You want your kid to have style, right?”

Derek didn’t answer, but his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.

It only got worse, or better, depending on perspective. Stiles grabbed a handful of adorable outfits: a “Daddy’s Little Howler” onesie, soft baby joggers, a sweater shaped like a fox, and a beanie with little bear ears.

And then, the final blow: a small, round stuffed wolf with bright green eyes and an oversized tail. Stiles clutched it to his chest like it was sacred. “This,” he said solemnly, “is his first stuffed animal.”

Derek, for all his stoicism, didn’t argue.

At checkout, the cashier raised an eyebrow at their overflowing cart, but said nothing.

Derek paid for almost everything, but when he reached for the clothes and stuffed animal, Stiles pulled them away and plopped them on the counter with his own card.

“My treat,” he said. “First baby gift.”

Derek gave him a look - confused, grateful, a little wary - but said nothing. He just nodded.

Stiles smiled to himself as he packed the little clothes into a bag. “He’s gonna be the best dressed baby in Beacon Hills.”

“God help me,” Derek muttered, but his voice was warm, and this time he didn’t bother hiding the smile.
~~~~

By the time they got home, Noah had already made progress clearing out the basement. The old Halloween boxes were stacked in the garage, and the dusty fake Christmas tree had been dragged into a corner with a note that read “THROW THIS AWAY, STILES.”

Derek stepped down the stairs into the finished basement and just stood there, silent.

The space was warm; no cold cement or bare walls. The flooring was wood laminate, soft underfoot, and light filtered in through the high set windows. It didn’t feel like a basement. It felt like… a room. A home.

It was bigger than he remembered.

More than enough space for a bed, a crib, and a dresser. Enough space to walk around and pace.

Stiles appeared beside him, dragging the box that has the crib in it. “Told you. Bigger than the guest room. And private. You’ll actually be able to breathe down here.”

Derek didn’t answer. His throat was tight. He kept staring at the room like it was a mirage - something too good, too kind, too safe to be real.

Noah came down the steps behind them, wiping his hands on an old rag. “We’ve got a new mattress upstairs in the guest room,” he said. “Hasn’t been used. We’ll bring it down with the frame. Set you up by the window.”

Derek still didn’t speak. His jaw worked like he was grinding down emotion into silence.

Stiles nudged him gently. “Hey. You okay?”

“I don’t…” Derek exhaled shakily. “I don’t deserve this.”

Noah didn’t flinch. “Everyone deserves a place to land, Derek. Especially when they’re trying to do right by someone else. You’re gonna be someone’s whole world tomorrow. That comes with a lot of weight. You shouldn’t carry it alone.”

Derek looked away, eyes burning.

“We’ve got you,” Stiles said quietly. “Me and my dad. You’re not doing this alone.”

Something in Derek cracked at that, just a little. He nodded once, almost imperceptibly.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s build a crib.”

Stiles grinned. “Now you’re talking. I have an Allen wrench and zero patience.”
~~~~

The crib stood assembled in the corner of the basement, next to the newly positioned bed. The soft stuffed wolf sat nestled among freshly washed blankets, and the baby clothes were neatly folded in a borrowed dresser Stiles had insisted on bringing down from his own room.

The room smelled faintly of sawdust, new fabric, and laundry detergent. But also smelt of Stiles and Noah. Ofpack. It felt settled, like it was waiting.

Stiles dropped onto the edge of the bed with a groan, wiping sweat off his brow with the hem of his shirt. “We survived. And no one threw a screwdriver through the drywall. I’m calling that a win.”

Derek stood near the crib, fingers trailing along the wooden edge like he still wasn’t sure it was real. “It’s… a lot.”

Stiles glanced over at him, tone softening. “You okay?”

Derek didn’t answer right away. He sat down slowly beside Stiles, elbows resting on his knees. His voice was quiet. “The others don’t know. About the baby.”

“The pack?”

He nodded. “I wanted to tell them. I almost did. But… I didn’t want to deal with whatever came next. The questions. The looks. I didn’t want this, him, to feel like a mistake to anyone else.”

Stiles tilted his head. “You really think they’ll see it that way?”

“I don’t know,” Derek admitted. “Some of them still barely trust me. Some only followed me because they had nowhere else to go. This? This is huge. What if they don’t rally behind me? What if they walk?”

Stiles was quiet for a moment, then looked Derek straight in the eye. “Then they never deserved to be in your pack to begin with.”

Derek looked at him, something raw and uncertain behind his eyes.

“You’re their Alpha,” Stiles said firmly. “And you’re doing something real and hard and good. Anyone who can’t stand behind that doesn’t get to be part of what you’re building.”

Derek blinked fast, like the words hit deeper than he expected.

Then, after a long pause, he said softly, “Thank you. For all of this. For helping. For not… judging me.”

Stiles scoffed. “Dude, the last thing I’d judge you for is having a one night stand in the middle of grieving your sister. You’re human. Well…human-ish. You were hurting.”

Derek nodded slowly, taking that in.

Stiles smirked. “Now, turning Jackson? That I judge you for.”

Derek barked out a laugh, head dropping into his hands. “I regret that every day.”

Stiles leaned back, smug. “Good. You should.”

They both laughed, the sound echoing off the basement walls. And for the first time since Derek had walked into the Stilinski house, the weight on his shoulders felt just a little bit lighter.
~~~~

Derek’s phone rang just after six in the morning. The basement was still dim with early light, and he’d barely slept. He sat up on instinct, heart already pounding as he grabbed the phone from the nightstand.

He didn’t recognize the number, but he knew.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end was calm, practiced - clearly hospital staff. “Hi, is this Derek Hale?”

“Yes.”

“I’m calling from Mercy Hospital in Redding. The birth mother you were contacted by is in labor. She asked that we let you know you’re welcome to wait in the family lounge.”

Derek’s breath caught. “She’s… she’s having the baby now?”

“She’s early in labor, but yes. Things are moving along.”

“I’ll be there.”

He hung up, still staring at the phone like it might ring again, like maybe this was all a mistake.

Then Stiles came thundering down the basement steps in mismatched socks and a hoodie three sizes too big. “Was that the call?”

Derek nodded, slow and wide eyed.

Stiles clapped his hands together. “Okay. You’re not going alone.”

“What?”

“You’re a walking panic attack in wolf form, dude. You need backup. We’re taking Dad’s sedan - he already installed the car seat in the back, just in case. Your Camaro’s a death trap for babies.”

Derek opened his mouth to argue but couldn’t find the words. He wasn’t even sure he disagreed.

Footsteps on the stairs again, slower this time; Noah, fully dressed, coffee in hand.

“You’ll take my car,” Noah said easily, pressing his keys into Stiles’ palm. “I’ll follow in the Camaro. I’ll meet you at the hospital in a couple of hours; once things settle down, I’ll help you handle the paperwork and legal side.”

Derek blinked. “You don’t have to-”

“I want to,” Noah interrupted gently. “You don’t have to do any of this alone.”

Derek swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

Noah nodded and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before heading back upstairs.

Stiles nudged Derek toward the stairs. “Come on. Let’s go meet your kid.”
~~~~

The hospital in Redding wasn’t big, but it still smelled like antiseptic and over brewed coffee and sterile floors - like every other place Derek had come to associate with loss.

But not this time.

Not this time.

He stepped through the sliding glass doors with Stiles right beside him, a steady presence, buzzing with nervous energy but saying nothing for once. Derek’s senses were stretched tight, every sound amplified, every heartbeat thudding like it belonged to him.

But he kept his focus on Stiles’ heartbeat; fast, but steady. Familiar. Safe.

The woman at the front desk barely looked up when Derek said what he was there for. “Family waiting room is down the hall to the left.”

Derek nodded and followed the direction without a word, one hand curled into a fist in the pocket of his hoodie. It still didn’t feel real. Not completely. There hadn’t been time to let it settle.

They stepped into the waiting room; dimly lit, outdated furniture, soft music playing from an overhead speaker. Derek barely noticed any of it. He sat, stiff and silent. Stiles paced a little, like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He wasn’t sure how much time passed.

And then it happened.

No warning. No footsteps. No voice calling out from down the hall. Just - snap.

The bond surged into place like a tidal wave, slamming through Derek’s chest with a force that knocked the air from his lungs.

He gasped, hand clutching the edge of the chair, eyes wide as he doubled over.

“Derek?” Stiles was immediately in front of him, crouched low, hands reaching. “What’s happening, are you okay?”

But Derek was already blinking hard, staring at the floor, breath coming in short, stunned bursts.

“He’s here,” he whispered.

“What?”

“My son. He’s here.”

Stiles froze.

“I can feel him,” Derek said, voice cracking. “The bond - it just… it snapped into place.” He clutched his chest like he could physically feel it, like the string tying him to this new life was tugging straight through his ribs.

“It’s stronger than anything,” Derek continued, his voice barely audible. “Stronger than even you or your dad’s bond to me. He’s mine. He’s…he’s pack.”

And then Derek did something Stiles hadn’t expected; he laughed.

It was raw and unsteady, half a breath away from a sob, but it was joy. Real joy, the kind Derek hadn’t let himself feel in what felt like years.

“He’s here,” Derek whispered again, like it was the first truth he’d believed in a long time.

And this time, Stiles didn’t say anything. He just sat down beside Derek, close enough that their knees bumped, and waited with him for someone to say what they both already knew.

The minutes stretched long. Derek hadn’t moved from the chair, still holding that invisible thread of the bond in his chest like it was the only thing keeping him upright. Stiles sat beside him, quiet now, letting Derek exist in the moment without pressing.

Then the door creaked open and a nurse stepped in, smiling softly. “Mr. Hale?”

Derek stood so fast the chair scraped against the floor.

“The baby’s been born,” she said gently. “The birth mother asked us to let you know everything went smoothly. He’s in the nursery now, getting cleaned up. You can come take a look if you’d like.”

Derek’s breath caught. “Yes. Please.”

He turned, halfway to following the nurse, and hesitated.

Stiles was already standing.

“Will you-” Derek cleared his throat. “Come with me?”

Stiles blinked, surprised but touched. “Yeah. Of course.”

They followed the nurse down a quiet hallway, the world narrowing around them, sterile walls and humming lights forgotten as anticipation built with each step. Derek’s heart pounded. He didn’t need the bond to feel his son anymore…he could feel him in every breath, every thought.

They reached the window to the nursery. The nurse nodded politely and stepped aside to give them space.

Derek approached the glass slowly, like he was afraid to breathe too hard and wake up from this.

There, swaddled tightly in a tiny blue blanket with a knit cap resting over a full head of dark hair, lay a baby nestled in a clear bassinet. His face was soft and pink, nose scrunched, eyes closed. He was frowning, already, like the world had mildly inconvenienced him.

Derek pressed his hand to the glass like it might bring him closer. His chest ached with something so fierce it nearly buckled him.

Stiles stepped up beside him and let out a breath, awed and reverent. “He’s perfect.”

Derek’s eyes didn’t move. “He’s mine.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said softly. “He really is.”

And for a long, quiet moment, neither of them moved - two boys on the other side of glass from something brand new, something sacred.

Something that had already changed everything.

Chapter Text

A nurse came to the window a few minutes later, a warm, practiced smile on her face. She gently beckoned them away from the glass.

“We’ve got a room set up for you and the baby, Mr. Hale,” she said as she led them down the hall. “The birth mother signed the release paperwork already - she doesn’t wish to have contact. We’ll go over everything you’ll need to sign once you’re settled in.”

Derek nodded, absorbing the words, but he didn’t feel angry. Not even a little.

If anything, he felt grateful. That this woman, who didn’t owe him anything, had carried his son into the world and then handed him over without hesitation. He didn’t know her, didn’t need to. She had made her decision, and now Derek would make his.

He would raise this child. Protect him. Love him.

The room was small but quiet and private, with a cot for Derek in the corner and a changing table already set up near the window. Soft lighting cast a warm glow across the room.

A few moments later, the door eased open again - and a nurse stepped in, wheeling the bassinet.

Derek’s breath caught in his throat.

The nurse smiled gently. “Would you like to hold your son?”

He stepped forward, barely breathing. “Yes. Please.”

She lifted the tiny bundle and placed him gently into Derek’s arms. The baby stirred slightly, nose scrunching, but didn’t cry. His warmth seeped into Derek’s chest immediately, like he was meant to be there.

Everything else fell away.

The steady hum of machines, the weight of the last year, even Stiles standing quietly near the door; all of it dimmed.

Derek looked down at his son and felt his whole world reorder itself.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’ve got you, kiddo.”

The baby wriggled a little, let out a sigh, and fell still again.

Stiles, watching from the doorway, didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there with wide, shining eyes and a hand pressed to his chest like it was the only thing keeping it together.

After a long moment, he finally said, “So… what’s his name?”

Derek looked down again, like the answer was right there in the folds of the baby’s blanket.

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted softly. “But I’ll know soon.”

And somehow, Stiles understood that too.
~~~~

It was just after two in the afternoon when the soft knock came at the hospital room door.

Derek looked up from the chair he hadn’t moved from since the baby was placed in his arms. His son had been asleep the whole time, occasionally twitching or sighing like he was already dreaming. Derek hadn’t stopped watching him.

The door opened, and Noah stepped in, still in uniform but without the usual edge of authority. His expression gentled the moment he saw them. Derek with the baby in his arms, Stiles perched on the windowsill, eyes warm and quiet.

“Hey,” Noah said softly. “How’s everything?”

“He’s perfect,” Derek murmured, voice almost reverent.

Noah’s gaze settled on the bundle in Derek’s arms. “He looks it.”

He stepped closer, slow and careful, not wanting to disturb the moment.

“Paperwork’s squared away,” Noah added. “Everything’s signed. You’re listed as the sole guardian. Birth certificate will be processed in a few days, once you pick a name.”

Derek nodded, swallowing hard. He hadn’t thought about names again…not yet.

“Thanks,” he said. “For everything.”

Noah smiled and placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder, squeezing once. “Pack helps pack.”

They all sat quietly for a while. The hospital was quiet, the kind of still that came between visiting hours and shift changes. The only sound was the faint ticking of the wall clock and the baby’s soft, sleepy breaths.

After a long pause, Stiles cleared his throat gently.

“Can I…?” he asked, gesturing awkwardly toward the baby.

Derek stiffened for a moment. His arms instinctively curled a little tighter around the small body he was holding. But then he looked at Stiles, really looked. Saw how carefully he was asking, how much it meant to him.

He nodded once. Slowly.

“Support his head,” Derek murmured.

Stiles held out his arms, more reverent than Derek had ever seen him, and Derek placed the baby into them as gently as possible.

Stiles looked down, stunned silent.

“Whoa,” he breathed. “You’re so tiny, dude. Like… impossibly small.”

The baby stirred a little, face scrunching, but didn’t wake.

Noah chuckled under his breath. “Careful, Stiles. You get attached too fast.”

Stiles didn’t look up. “Too late.”

Derek sat back down, watching them closely, the anxiety still tight in his chest, but it loosened a bit with each second that passed.

Because watching Stiles hold his son didn’t feel wrong.

It felt like a natural course of action.
~~~~

That evening, after Noah had gone home to finish prepping the Stilinski house for a newborn, Stiles dragged a hospital tray table over, plopped his laptop on it, and pulled up a baby name website with an exaggerated flourish.

“Okay,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “We’re gonna name this kid. Because I love calling him 'baby Hale,' but that’s probably not sustainable long term.”

Derek was seated on the cot, the baby nestled against his chest in a tight swaddle. The tiny form barely stirred, comforted by Derek’s heartbeat and warmth.

Stiles began reading names out loud, complete with commentary.

“Ethan. No, too vampire diaries. Logan? Nope, that’s a werewolf name if I’ve ever heard one. Wyatt? Sounds like he owns a cattle ranch. Killian…what is this, a pirate novel?”

Derek arched a brow. “Do you have a filter?”

“Absolutely not,” Stiles said without missing a beat. “Okay. What about something strong, classic, but not boring? Lucas? James? Alexander?”

Derek just shook his head after each one.

Stiles sighed and scrolled down. “I swear, if you name him after a tree or an animal, I will stage an intervention.”

Derek looked down at the baby again, his fingers gently tracing over the soft blanket.

“What about Elias?” he asked quietly. “Elias Patrick Hale.”

Stiles blinked. The name settled into the room like it belonged there. He opened his mouth, then shut it, then slowly smiled.

“That was my grandpa’s name,” he said, softer now. “On my mom’s side. Elias Ralston.”

“I know,” Derek murmured, still watching the baby.

Stiles turned toward him, a little stunned. “You… you knew?”

“I remember you talking about him,” Derek said. “You said he used to sneak you candy before dinner and let you sit on his lap while he fixed old radios.”

Stiles blinked fast. “I didn’t think you were even listening.”

“I always listened,” Derek said.

There was silence, deep and full.

“Elias Patrick Hale,” Stiles repeated, testing the way it sounded. “That’s a really good name.”

Derek smiled, a small, quiet thing. “Yeah. It is.”

And in that moment, it felt official.

Elias had a name.

He had a pack.

And he had a family.
~~~~

The hospital room was quiet. Dimly lit by a small lamp in the corner, it cast a warm, golden haze across the floor, the bassinet, and the cot where Stiles was passed out, half covered by a scratchy hospital blanket, mouth slightly open as he snored softly.

Derek sat in the chair by the window, cradling Eli in his arms.

The baby had just finished his bottle, and now he was dozing again, his tiny face still scrunched in concentration, as if even sleep took effort. His breaths were soft little huffs against Derek’s chest, his impossibly small fingers curled around the fabric of Derek’s shirt like he never intended to let go.

Derek didn’t think he could move even if he wanted to. His body ached from exhaustion, from tension, from emotions that had been layered and buried under years of grief, but he didn’t move.

He couldn’t stop looking at him.

His son.

There were still so many unknowns. He didn’t know what Eli would grow up to love. If he’d ever shift, or run through the woods with the pack. If he’d have Derek’s eyes or his smile, complete with bunny teeth of his own. If he’d be quiet or loud, shy or stubborn, or if he’d fall asleep in seconds like now; or fight it like a war.

Derek didn’t know any of it.

But he knew this.

He would love him.

He already did - so completely, so unconditionally, it almost hurt. It was overwhelming in a way Derek hadn’t expected. It had nothing to do with instincts or bonds or blood. It was the way Eli had sighed and relaxed into his arms like he belonged there. It was the way holding him filled something in Derek that had been hollow since the fire. Since Laura. Since everything.

It was the way Eli made Derek feel like he had a future, not just a past.

He pressed a soft kiss to the top of Eli’s downy head, lingering there for a long moment.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered again. “I promise.”

A soft rustle from the cot drew his eyes; Stiles shifting in his sleep, hand tucked under his cheek, curled toward them even in unconsciousness.

Derek let his eyes linger there too, warmth blooming in his chest.

He wasn’t doing this alone.

And for the first time in longer than he could remember… Derek felt safe.

With his son in his arms, his pack member nearby, and his heart cracked open in a way he hadn’t known it could be.
~~~~

The hospital released them just after noon on Sunday, the sun high and bright, the air crisp with early spring. Stiles insisted on driving; partly because Derek had barely slept, and partly because Derek refused to sit anywhere other than directly next to Eli’s car seat.

So Derek was in the back of Noah’s sedan, hunched slightly to keep one hand resting gently on Eli’s chest, just to make sure he was breathing. As if he wasn’t going to check every sixty seconds anyway.

Stiles peeked in the rearview mirror for the tenth time since pulling out of the hospital parking lot.

“You doing okay back there, Dad?” he teased.

Derek didn’t answer at first. He was staring at the tiny bundle in the rear facing seat like he was made of glass and dreams.

Stiles grinned. “He’s not gonna disappear, you know.”

“He hiccupped,” Derek said gravely.

Stiles blinked. “...Is that bad?”

“No. I just didn’t expect it.”

Stiles snorted. “Welcome to parenthood, where you panic over a sneeze and Google ‘baby hiccups normal or demonic possession’ at 3 a.m.”

Derek actually smiled at that, soft and a little sheepish. “It’s just…he’s so small.”

“Yeah, well, you were small once too.”

“I was never this small.”

“Debatable,” Stiles said. “I bet baby Derek was a chubby little wolf pup with giant eyes and floppy hair.”

Derek gave him a dry look through the mirror. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Not when I’m nervous,” Stiles admitted, eyes flicking to the side mirror. “Which I am, a little. I mean; we just became the welcome committee for a whole new life. It’s kind of a big deal.”

Derek glanced down again, watching Eli’s tiny fist twitch in his sleep.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “It is.”

There was a beat of silence, then Stiles spoke again, quieter now. “You’re doing good, you know. Just in case you were wondering.”

Derek didn’t respond right away, but his fingers curled slightly more securely over the strap of the car seat.

“Thanks,” he said finally.

Stiles smiled, eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel.

They weren’t quite a picture perfect family. But as Derek sat in the backseat of a borrowed car, staring down at his son while Stiles navigated them home with one eye on the mirror and his heart already too full…

It felt like something close.
~~~~

The Stilinski house had never looked so warm, so ready.

The moment Stiles pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine, the front door opened. Noah stood there on the porch with a dish towel over his shoulder, sleeves rolled up, and the kind of nervous energy about him.

Derek stepped out first, hands moving instinctively to unbuckle the car seat, moving slowly, carefully; like the whole world might shatter if he made a wrong move. He lifted Eli out with the sort of gentleness Stiles hadn’t known he was capable of, his eyes fixed on his son like nothing else in the universe mattered.

Stiles jogged ahead and opened the front door wide.

“Welcome to Casa Stilinski-Hale,” he announced, sweeping his arm like a game show host. “Now featuring one baby and a lot of future caffeine intake.”

Noah rolled his eyes fondly and stepped aside so Derek could carry Eli in. He didn’t say anything at first; just looked. His gaze softened, the tough sheriff expression melting into something deeply tender as he saw the tiny bundle in Derek’s arms.

“He sleeps through everything,” Derek said softly. “The ride didn’t even wake him up.”

“You’ll miss that in about three weeks when he’s screaming every time you sit down,” Noah said with a chuckle, already leading them inside.

Derek smiled, tired but genuinely. “Looking forward to it.”

They made their way downstairs, Stiles ahead flipping on the lights and pulling open the curtains. The basement had been transformed. A rocking chair sat in the corner. The bed that had been brought down from the guest room and made up with fresh sheets. A small shelf of baby books was already growing, thanks to Stiles’ impulsive spending habits.

It was warm. Open. Home.

Derek stood in the center of the room and just… took it in.

“You can set him down if you want,” Stiles said gently, suddenly unsure. “Or we can take turns holding him forever. I’m cool with either option.”

Derek moved slowly to the crib, leaned in, and placed Eli down gently. The baby didn’t stir, just sighed softly and curled his fingers near his face.

There was silence.

Then Noah put a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “You’ve got this, son. And we’ve got you.”

Derek nodded, jaw tight, emotions dangerously close to the surface. He wasn’t used to this support, comfort, a place to land.

He stepped back, eyes never leaving Eli.

“Welcome home,” Derek whispered.
~~~~

It started off peacefully enough.

Eli had slept through most of the afternoon, and Derek had taken that as a good sign. He’d eaten another small bottle, burped without too much protest, and had let Derek rock him gently in the new chair while the sun set outside the basement windows.

But once night hit?

All bets were off.

It started with a single, sharp wail - high pitched and soul piercing - and within seconds, Eli was red faced, fists flailing, his tiny lungs fully engaged in what could only be described as a declaration of war.

Derek tried everything. The diaper was dry. He wasn’t too hot or too cold. The bottle was offered. Rejected. Rocking? Nope. Walking in slow circles around the basement? A brief pause in the crying, then louder screams in protest.

He bounced gently. He shushed. He whispered.

Nothing worked.

He was sweating.

When Derek finally admitted defeat, it was nearly 1:30 a.m., and he trudged up the stairs barefoot, hair a mess, baby in one arm and bottle in the other like a white flag.

He barely made it to the hallway before Stiles’ door cracked open.

“You need backup?” Stiles asked, already wide eyed and half dressed, hoodie thrown over pajama pants and socks that didn’t match.

Derek sighed. “He hates me.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Stiles said as he stepped out and gently took the bottle so Derek could shift Eli more comfortably. “He’s a baby. He hates everything for no reason.”

Back in the basement, they worked as a team. Stiles bouncing slightly as he walked, talking nonsense to Eli, “Listen, little dude, we like your Dad. He’s cool. Let’s not emotionally destroy him on day one, okay?”

Derek changed the diaper again - just in case. Stiles warmed the bottle slightly more. They traded off rocking and bouncing. Finally, finally, Eli started to calm. It wasn’t perfect. He whimpered and hiccupped and gave a few leftover sobs like he wanted them to know he could scream again if he had to.

But he started to drift.

Derek collapsed onto the bed, baby on his chest, while Stiles sank into the rocking chair, watching with a bleary eyed, slightly manic sort of awe.

“I see the appeal,” Stiles said softly. “He’s like… a tiny volcano with a face.”

Derek gave a weak laugh, one hand gently rubbing Eli’s back. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Neither does anyone,” Stiles replied. “But you’re doing it anyway. That counts for a lot.”

They sat there in silence, the hum of the night settling around them.

“You didn’t have to come down,” Derek said after a moment.

Stiles smirked, kicking his mismatched feet up on the ottoman. “I think we both know I did.”

Derek didn’t argue.

Eli sighed in his sleep, hand curled against Derek’s neck. And for the first time since the chaos began, Derek felt a flicker of peace.

“Thanks,” he said.

Stiles grinned sleepily. “You can thank me by naming your second kid after me.”

Derek gave him a look. “Absolutely not.”

“Middle name?”

“Still no.”

“Ugh. Rude.”

But both of them smiled, and down between them, Eli slept on - tiny and loud and perfect.
~~~~

Noah quietly opened the basement door, careful not to disturb the peace that had finally settled over the room. His eyes softened as he took in the scene before him: Stiles, curled up in the rocking chair, fast asleep with his head tilted back and mouth slightly open, the faint sound of gentle snoring filling the air. On the bed, Derek lay stretched out, exhausted but serene, with baby Eli nestled on his chest, his tiny breaths rising and falling in rhythm with Derek’s heartbeat.

A smile tugged at Noah’s lips.

Clearing his throat gently, Noah walked over and lightly shook Stiles’ shoulder. “Stiles, time to get up. School.”

Stiles groaned, eyes fluttering open. “Nooo… I don’t wanna go.”

Noah chuckled softly. “You’re shit out of luck, kid. Two months left of junior year, then you’re off the hook. You can hang out with the baby all summer.”

Reluctantly, Stiles sat up and stretched, rubbing his eyes. He leaned down over the bed, careful not to disturb Derek or Eli, and placed a soft kiss on the baby’s head.

“Have a good day, little dude,” Stiles whispered.

Noah ruffled Stiles’ hair as he headed upstairs. “You too, kiddo. You’re doing good.”

Derek stirred slightly but didn’t wake, still cradling his son as the first light of morning filtered through the basement windows.

The day had begun.
~~~~

At 8:15 a.m., Derek sat on the edge of the bed in the basement, still in sweats and a hoodie, cradling Eli in the crook of one arm. The room was warm and quiet; peaceful, finally. Eli’s tiny fingers clutched the edge of Derek’s hoodie as he drank, eyes fluttering sleepily.

Derek’s phone buzzed on the nightstand.

He reached over and thumbed it open.

Stiles:
Dude. Emergency.
Why does the entire pack suddenly care that I smell so much like you? And they’re up my ass about the other scent. Boyd just asked if I “imprinted on someone.” What the hell do I do??

Derek smirked, just a little, then rolled his eyes as he typed back.

Derek
You can tell them the truth if you want to.

The reply was almost instant.

Stiles:
Are you sure? I mean, isn’t this like… Alpha business? Secret alpha dad things? Your business?

Derek paused, glancing down at Eli, who had slowed his sucking and was now blinking up at him with half lidded eyes. A wave of something soft and steady swept through him.

Derek:
It’s your business too.
You and your dad opened your home to me and my son. You’ve been here since the moment I found out he existed. You’re pack.
They’ll need to get used to that.
And so will you.

There was a long pause before Stiles replied.

Stiles:
Okay.
Okay, cool. Just making sure before I traumatize Jackson with the concept of Derek Hale having a baby.

Derek:
Please do.

Derek chuckled softly to himself, placing the empty bottle aside and pulling Eli gently against his chest. The baby let out a tiny sigh, nuzzling into the soft fabric.

The pack would know soon enough. But for now, in this quiet space with his son safe in his arms, Derek didn’t feel afraid of that. Not with Stiles standing in front of him like a shield, like a bridge, like someone who refused to let him do this alone.
~~~~

The cafeteria was its usual chaotic mess of loud voices, the smell of processed food, and the general buzz of high school energy crackling in the air. Stiles plopped his tray down across from Isaac and Boyd, with Jackson and Erica flanking them. He looked mildly haunted, half from lack of sleep and half from the pack’s laser focused attention on him the second he walked through the doors that morning.

“Okay,” Stiles said, sitting down with a sigh and stabbing a limp fry with purpose. “I’m telling you now because you’re all driving me insane and I’m too tired to be mysterious any longer.”

Isaac leaned forward instantly, eyes sharp. “So what’s the deal? Why do you smell like Derek?”

Erica raised an eyebrow, sipping from her water bottle. “And there’s a new scent. Like… new new. Like squishy baby new.”

Jackson made a face. “You’re not seriously involved with Derek, are you? That’s tragic, even for you.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “First of all - screw you, Jackson. Second - no, I’m not dating Derek. But I am living with him.”

All four of them blinked at him.

Stiles waited.

“…What?” Boyd said slowly, brows drawing together.

Stiles took a breath. “Okay, so…here’s the deal. Derek found out Friday that he’s going to be a dad. Then the baby was born Saturday.”

Erica’s jaw dropped. Isaac straightened like he’d been zapped.

“The mother didn’t want the baby, so Derek’s got full custody. And since his loft isn’t ready, he and the baby are living with me and my dad for now.”

“A baby?” Jackson said flatly, like the word offended him personally.

“A baby,” Stiles confirmed. “Tiny. Loud. Adorable. Name’s Elias - Eli. He came home yesterday.”

Erica let out a soft breath, eyes wide. “That’s… actually kind of amazing.”

Isaac blinked. “Wait. Derek Hale has a baby. A real human baby.”

“Well, probably a werewolf baby,” Stiles corrected. “But yeah.”

Boyd gave him a quiet, thoughtful look. “And you’re okay with that?”

Stiles shrugged and smiled faintly. “Honestly? I’m more than okay with it. Derek’s… trying. And the baby is seriously cute. Like weaponized cuteness. Plus, I’m basically Uncle Stiles now. I’m committed.”

Isaac leaned back, eyebrows still high. “Huh.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, popping another fry into his mouth. “So now that the mystery has been solved, you can all stop sniffing me like I’ve been harboring secrets in my hoodie.”

Erica grinned. “No promises.”

Boyd smiled softly. “Tell Derek congrats. We’d love to come around once everything is settled. Well, I would anyway.”

“I will,” Stiles said, and this time, his smile turned genuine, warm and a little proud. “He deserves it.”
~~~~

Back at the Stilinski house, the basement was quiet, save for the soft hum of the white noise machine Noah had picked up on the way home from the hospital. Derek sat cross legged on the floor, a baby blanket draped across his legs, Eli cradled against his chest. The rhythm of Eli’s breathing was slow and steady, his tiny hand curled into Derek’s hoodie drawstring.

Derek’s phone buzzed on the nightstand again.

He shifted just enough to reach for it, careful not to jostle Eli. The screen lit up with a message from Stiles.

Stiles:
Told the pack at lunch. Baby bomb officially dropped.

Stiles:
Reactions were... surprisingly not awful. Isaac is still processing, Erica wants to babysit already, Boyd told me to tell you congrats, and Jackson looked like someone ran over his ego with a minivan. Which is basically just his face, always. Boyd wants to meet the baby when things settle.

Stiles:
So... a win.

Derek’s lips quirked into a small, rare smile. His fingers hovered for a second over the keyboard before he replied.

Derek:
Thank you.

Stiles:
Anytime. Seriously. I meant what I said. We’re in this.

Derek glanced down at Eli, fast asleep, still curled against his chest like he belonged there and nowhere else.

Derek:
I know.

And he did.
~~~~

It started with a bottle.

One bottle, two in the morning, Stiles tiptoeing down the basement stairs in mismatched socks and an old Beacon Hills lacrosse hoodie to find Derek sitting on the edge of the bed with Eli in his arms, rocking him silently in the low light of the nursery corner.

“Go back to sleep,” Derek whispered without looking.

But Stiles didn’t. He took the bottle from Derek’s hand, sat down in the rocking chair, and held Eli like he was the most precious thing on earth.

From that moment on, it became routine.

Stiles woke early and stayed up late. Between classes and homework and half finished essays, he started learning the art of the one handed baby bounce. He’d mastered typing with one hand by the end of the second week - baby in one arm, laptop balanced on his knee, aggressively Googling things like why is the baby grunting or is it normal for newborns to look like angry potatoes, in between his research papers and redundant Chemistry homework.

He came home from school and headed straight for the basement. He walked in the door tossing his backpack aside with a muttered “Hey, I hate school,” only to beeline for the bassinet instead. Derek, who used to hover every time Eli made a noise, now watched calmly from the couch or the corner of the room, letting Stiles do his thing.

And God, did Stiles love doing it.

He sang off key lullabies and narrated the entire process of diaper changes like he was hosting a cooking show.

“And now we wrap the baby burrito, very carefully - tight, but not too tight, no one likes an overstuffed tortilla - there we go, look at that, Michelin star work right here.”

Derek stopped hovering somewhere between week one and week two, slowly realizing that Stiles wasn’t just helping out of some sort of misplaced obligation…he wanted to be there. He wasn’t stepping in out of obligation, but out of some ridiculous, boundless affection for Eli… and maybe for Derek too, though that was harder to name.

Eli cried, as all newborns do. Sometimes it was a fussy whimper, other times it was a full blown siren. More often than not, it was Stiles who picked him up first, cradled him close, murmuring nonsense into his tiny ear while Derek prepared a bottle or just watched, chest tight with something achingly new.

Even without giggles, Eli had a way of capturing the entire room. A yawn, a sneeze, a scrunch of his face; every little movement earned a coo from Stiles and a soft look from Derek.

At night, after Eli finally went down, Stiles would crash on the floor, feet propped on the bed frame, textbook open across his stomach.

“Why do I keep doing this?” he groaned one night, eyes closed, calculus notes scattered on the floor.

“Because you love him,” Derek said simply, without looking up from where he was folding impossibly tiny onesies.

Stiles blinked open one eye. “Is it that obvious?”

Derek gave the smallest smile. “Yeah.”

And Stiles didn’t deny it.
~~~~

The third Monday morning since Eli came home was like most others now; chaotic and warm. Stiles had bags under his eyes, a spit up stain on his shirt that he hadn’t noticed until he was halfway out the door, and a travel mug full of lukewarm coffee that was basically his lifeline. He didn’t even make it past the parking lot before Scott was suddenly there, blocking his path.

Stiles didn’t flinch. He just adjusted the strap on his backpack and tried to sidestep.

Scott stepped with him.

“I heard,” Scott said, arms crossed tightly. “You’re playing house with Derek Hale and a baby.”

Stiles blinked at him, deadpan. “Cool. Glad to know Beacon Hills’ gossip network is alive and well.” He shrugged, tone light but tired. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a bio quiz to bomb.”

He moved to keep walking, but Scott’s voice followed him, sharp and bitter.

“I still can’t believe you picked him over your best friend.”

Stiles froze.

He turned slowly, jaw tight, a flicker of exhaustion giving way to simmering frustration. “No,” he said quietly, “I picked an Alpha who cared. One who didn’t run from responsibility. One who didn’t treat everyone around him like they were just dragging him down.”

Scott’s eyes widened. “That’s not fair.”

“You know what’s not fair?” Stiles snapped, voice rising. “You getting bit and deciding you’re the only person whose life changed! You pushing everyone away and acting like you’re some tragic hero while people were dying, Scott. While Derek was trying to help you. That rogue Alpha would have kept killing people had Derek not killed him first!”

“Help me?” Scott barked. “He used people. He bit people.”

“He gave them a choice!” Stiles shouted. “He gave them pack!”

A few students nearby stopped walking, caught in the charged energy radiating off both of them.

“I tried to be there for you,” Stiles said, voice tight, low now. “Even when you wouldn’t listen. Even when you treated me like the enemy. But I’m not going to apologize for backing someone who actually gives a damn.”

Scott’s face twisted. “So what now, you’re Derek’s little sidekick? Playing dad to his kid like it’s some game?”

That hit deep - but not in the way Scott intended.

Stiles stepped forward, chest brushing Scott’s. “You don’t get to talk about Eli like that,” he said coldly. “You don’t know anything about what that baby means. Not to Derek. Not to me. So stay out of it.”

Scott opened his mouth again, but Stiles was already walking away, head high, shoulders tight with adrenaline.
~~~~

Stiles slumped down onto a bench outside the locker room, gym bag at his feet, sweat already starting to pool at the back of his neck even though he hadn’t touched a weight yet. He pulled out his phone, thumbs flying before he could second guess himself.

Stiles:
Hey, I’m gonna be late. Heading to the gym for a bit.

The reply came faster than he expected.

Derek:
You? At the gym? Did Finstock demand it or did the apocalypse start without me?

Stiles huffed a sharp breath through his nose, half a laugh and half a frustrated grunt. He leaned back against the wall and stared at the phone a moment before replying.

Stiles:
I’m too pissed off to come home right now. I need to burn it off before I walk into the house and Eli picks up on it.

There was a pause. Three dots blinked, disappeared, came back.

Derek:
What happened?

Stiles hesitated for a second. Then he let the words fall out.

Stiles:
Scott. He cornered me this morning, started crap about me “playing house” with you and Eli. Said I picked you over my “best friend” like the fucking imbecile that he is.

Another pause. Longer this time.

Derek:
…I’m sorry.

Stiles sat up straighter, fingers flying again with urgency.

Stiles:
No. Nope. Absolutely not. Don’t do that. You have NOTHING to apologize for.

Stiles:
He’s the one who walked away. You didn’t do anything except be a good father and not be a complete dick to me when I offered to help. That’s a step up in Beacon Hills, let’s be honest.

Another message followed before Derek could even reply.

Stiles:
Seriously. Don’t take any of that on. That’s all on Scott. I’m just mad and trying not to bring that into Eli’s orbit.

The dots blinked again.

Derek:
…I could kick his ass if you want.

Stiles snorted and dropped his forehead into his hand, grinning despite himself.

Stiles:
Tempting. Very tempting.

Stiles:
But then I’d have to visit you in jail and explain to Eli why Daddy needed anger management classes.

Derek:
Fair. But the offer stands.

Stiles leaned his head back against the cool wall and closed his eyes for a moment, heart settling. The anger was still there, but it was dulled now - burned down to embers in the presence of Derek’s steady, quiet support.

Stiles:
I’ll be home in a bit. Thanks, Derek.

Derek:
We’ll be here. Eli’s missing his favorite ridiculous human.

Stiles grinned, tucked the phone back into his hoodie pocket, and finally stood up to hit the weights - lighter on his feet than he’d been all day.
~~~~

Stiles pulled into the driveway just after sunset, muscles pleasantly sore and tension burned off from the gym. The porch light was on, his dad must’ve flipped it before heading out for the night shift, and the house was quiet in that peaceful, lived in way that had started to feel like something Stiles didn’t want to let go of.

He slipped inside quietly, toes instinctively soft on the floorboards, out of habit for not waking a newborn. The air smelled like baby powder and faintly of coffee, and Stiles exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Home.

His gym bag dropped by the door, Stiles headed upstairs for a shower. Ten minutes later, clean and warm in his oldest sweats and hoodie, he padded barefoot down to the basement, hair still damp and curling at the edges.

Derek was sitting cross legged on the bed, his back against the headboard, a worn paperback resting on his thigh, clearly forgotten. He looked up when Stiles entered, and his expression immediately softened.

Eli was curled on Derek’s chest, sound asleep, one tiny hand fisted in the fabric of Derek’s shirt. The sight never failed to make Stiles melt.

“You smell like stress and citrus shampoo,” Derek murmured quietly, voice teasing but gentle.

Stiles grinned. “Better than when I got home. Didn’t want to traumatize your kid by coming down here smelling like a middle school locker room.”

Derek smirked, glancing down at the baby on his chest. “He’s been fussy. I think he missed you.”

Stiles made a show of pressing his hands to his heart. “He loves me more than you already. Sorry, man. It’s the Stiles Effect.”

Derek rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

Stiles walked over and dropped onto the end of the bed, gaze locked on Eli. “How’s he been?”

“Good,” Derek said, quiet and soft. “Took the bottle fine. Fussed a bit, but he settled down after I put on the playlist you made.”

Stiles beamed. “I told you lo-fi hip hop was magic.”

Derek shifted slightly, careful not to jostle Eli. “Thanks for earlier. For giving yourself space.”

Stiles shrugged, eyes still fixed on the sleeping baby. “Didn’t want to bring bad vibes into the baby zone.” He paused, then added with a wry smile, “Besides, I knew I’d come back and this little face would completely obliterate all my rage.”

Derek didn’t say anything, but the way he looked at Stiles, steady, grateful, a little bit in awe, said plenty.

They sat like that for a few minutes, the only sound the soft exhale of Eli’s breathing and the distant hum of a car passing outside.

“You wanna hold him?” Derek asked eventually.

Stiles nodded, reaching out carefully. Derek shifted with practiced ease, passing the baby into Stiles’ arms. Stiles adjusted instinctively, cradling Eli close and smiling down at him like the rest of the world had ceased to matter.

Derek watched, eyes soft. “He really does like you.”

“Well, obviously,” Stiles whispered with a grin. “I’m his cool uncle-slash-packmate-slash-surrogate co parent.”

Derek huffed a quiet laugh. “Slash my best friend,” he said, almost too low to hear.

Stiles looked up, caught off guard, eyes searching Derek’s face for any sign of teasing. There was none; just quiet sincerity and maybe a hint of vulnerability.

Stiles swallowed thickly and looked down at Eli again, voice gentler than before. “Right back at you, dude.”
~~~~

That summer became the kind of memory that would live in Stiles’ bones for the rest of his life; warm, soft, and golden in a way that never dulled.

Derek’s loft renovations had picked up momentum, and he spent his days with contractors and dusty blueprints, slowly turning the echoing shell of a space into a home. While he worked, Stiles took over the most important job of all: Eli.

Every morning, like clockwork, Derek would come upstairs with Eli bundled against his chest, and Stiles would take him with a sleepy grin and a fond, “Good morning, sunshine”.

The first time Eli smiled at him, it was accidental, one of those fluttery little newborn half grins that might’ve been gas, but Stiles didn’t care. He called Derek immediately, breathless and excited, and when Derek came home that night, Stiles was still buzzing.

By the time Eli’s giggles started, light and bubbly and utterly contagious, Stiles was wrapped around his tiny, chubby fisted finger. He spent hours making ridiculous faces and sounds just to earn a few more precious laughs. He took a hundred photos a day, texted them to Derek with increasingly dramatic captions, and made sure Eli’s laughter filled the house so often that even Noah would chuckle when he came home from work.

Between bottles, diapers, and tummy time, Stiles packed Derek a lunch every morning; complete with post it notes that ranged from encouraging messages to truly awful puns. Derek would roll his eyes at them, but he always smiled, and he never once forgot to bring the bag back.

And every evening, when Derek came home - exhausted, dusty, but content - Stiles had dinner ready. Nothing fancy, but always warm and filling, usually eaten around the kitchen table with Noah joining them when he was home. It became a routine so natural none of them questioned it. Stiles fed the baby while Derek showered. Derek burped the baby while Stiles cleaned up the kitchen. Noah would bounce Eli on his lap and grumble fondly about the two Hales turning his house into a nursery.

Sometimes, Stiles caught himself humming lullabies under his breath, rocking Eli even when he didn’t need it, or just holding him long after he fell asleep, staring down at him like he couldn’t believe how much he loved something that hadn’t even existed four months ago.

But it wasn’t just Eli he was taking care of. Stiles made sure Derek drank enough water on hot days, kept granola bars in his backpack for him, and coaxed him into watching movies at night when Derek looked too tired to sleep. He listened when Derek vented, nudged him when he needed rest, and reminded him, again and again, that he wasn’t alone in this. That he was doing fantastic.

What Stiles didn’t expect, though, was how Derek started taking care of him in return. Quietly. Constantly. There was always a mug of tea waiting for him in the morning. His laundry somehow got folded. His favorite snacks started showing up in the pantry. Derek didn’t say anything about it, but he noticed everything.

And through it all, the summer blurred into something beautiful. Something soft and bright, filled with firsts - first gummy smiles, first real laughter, first time Eli grabbed Stiles’ thumb intentionally and didn’t let go.

By the end of July, Stiles couldn’t remember what life had been like without Eli’s heartbeat under his hand, or Derek’s quiet footsteps on the house. And he didn’t want to.
~~~~

The call came midafternoon, just as Stiles had settled Eli down for a nap in the bassinet tucked beside the couch. The summer sun filtered through the curtains, warm and golden, and Stiles was halfway through a bowl of ice cream when his phone buzzed.

Peter Hale’s name lit up on the screen.

Stiles stared at the name for a moment, torn between letting it ring and answering. Curiosity won.

“Peter?” he said, cautious.

“Hello, Stiles.” Peter’s voice was smooth as ever, calm and controlled. Too calm. It set Stiles immediately on edge.

“Uh… what’s up?”

“I was hoping I could come by and meet the newest Hale,” Peter said without preamble.

Stiles blinked. “Wait - you mean Eli?”

“Yes, Elias,” Peter said like he was trying the name out for the first time. “It’s been three months. I figured it was time.”

Stiles frowned, glancing toward the baby monitor out of habit. Eli was still asleep, breathing softly.

“Have you talked to Derek?” he asked, trying not to sound suspicious, but failing.

“I did,” Peter replied, with just the faintest hint of irritation in his voice. “He said I needed to talk to you. That it was your house.”

Stiles scoffed in disbelief, scrubbing a hand down his face. “But it’s Derek’s kid! Why am I the gatekeeper now?”

“Because, apparently, he listens to you,” Peter said dryly. “And because Derek still hasn’t quite forgiven me, I imagine.”

That, at least, wasn’t shocking. Things between Derek and Peter had remained civil at best and strained and unspoken at worst. The fallout from the fire, the coma, the betrayal Peter felt, it all sat between them like unhealed scar tissue. And now, with Eli in the picture, there was another layer added: family.

Stiles sighed. “Look… Peter, it’s not that I don’t think you should meet him, he is your nephew, but I’m not the one who should decide this.”

Peter didn’t respond right away. Then, quietly: “Derek said you are. That if I wanted to meet Elias, I needed your okay.”

That… hit different. Stiles blinked, taken aback. Derek trusted him, enough to make that call, enough to put Peter’s access to his son in Stiles’ hands. It was grounding and surreal at the same time.

He exhaled slowly and said, “Alright. Let me talk to Derek again. Make sure he’s actually okay with it, not just deflecting.”

“I appreciate that,” Peter said. “And for what it’s worth… I’m not here to make things harder for Derek. I just want to see my nephew. Both of them.”

Stiles wasn’t sure if he believed him entirely, but there was something genuine in Peter’s voice, something soft, that made him want to.

“I’ll call you later,” Stiles said, already typing out a message to Derek.

“Of course,” Peter replied, and the call ended.

Stiles sat there for a moment, phone still in his hand, staring at the sleeping baby in the bassinet.

“This family is so weird,” he muttered.

Stiles didn’t wait. He tapped Derek’s name on his phone and brought it to his ear as he stood up, pacing toward the kitchen like movement might help process the surreal turn of his afternoon.

Derek answered on the second ring. His voice was low and steady, background noise hinting at some kind of power tool being shut off. “Is Eli okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine,” Stiles said quickly. “Still sleeping like a little angel - which, I know, shocking. But uh. Peter just called.”

There was a pause. Not long, but heavy. “Yeah. I figured he would.”

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck. “He said you told him to call me.”

“I did,” Derek admitted. “It’s your house, and Peter... he doesn’t exactly bring peace with him. I didn’t want to put pressure on you.”

“But it’s your baby, Derek,” Stiles said, echoing his earlier frustration. “You get to say who does or doesn’t meet him. That shouldn’t fall on me.”

Derek sighed. “He’s my uncle. And I don’t know how I feel about him seeing Eli yet. I thought I did, but the second he asked, it felt like my ribs locked up. So I told him to ask you. Because if you said no, I knew I’d feel better about it.”

Stiles stopped pacing. His brows pulled together. “You wanted an out.”

“Maybe,” Derek said softly. “Maybe I wanted someone I trust to make the decision I didn’t want to.”

Stiles leaned against the counter, staring at nothing for a long moment. “He didn’t push. He said he just wants to meet his nephew. To just see you both.”

“And do you believe him?” Derek asked.

Stiles shrugged even though Derek couldn’t see it. “I think he believes he wants that. And maybe that’s enough for now.”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a few beats. Then Derek asked, quieter than before, “Do you think it’s a bad idea?”

Stiles inhaled, slow and thoughtful. “No. I think it’s a complicated one. But no… not bad.”

“Then tell him he can come over. I’ll be home by six.”

“You sure?” Stiles asked. “Because I will fake a gas leak to get out of it.”

Derek actually laughed; soft, but real. “I’m sure. Just… don’t leave me alone with him.”

“Not a chance,” Stiles promised. “I’ll be right there, with a baby between us and a wooden spoon if things get tense.”

“I feel very protected,” Derek deadpanned.

“You should.”

They were quiet for a second longer. Then Derek added, “Thanks. For handling this. For… everything.”

Stiles smiled faintly, looking toward the baby monitor again. “Yeah. Of course. I’ve got you, Hale.”

And as if on cue, Eli stirred - soft little sighs and stretching fingers.

Stiles grinned. “Okay, I’m gonna go rescue your son from what is probably a dream about losing his pacifier.”

“I’ll see you tonight.”

“Good luck with the noise. Renovate responsibly.”

Derek chuckled again before hanging up.

Stiles stared at the phone a second longer before sighing and going back to Eli, already mentally preparing for whatever awkward, passive aggressive, emotionally loaded Hale family interaction the evening might bring.

Stiles stared at Peter’s contact for a solid ten seconds before finally tapping call with a resigned sigh. The line didn’t even ring twice before Peter picked up.

“Stiles,” Peter said smoothly, like he’d been expecting the call and was already two steps ahead in whatever mental chess game he was playing.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get smug yet,” Stiles said. “I talked to Derek.”

There was a pause. “And?”

“And…” Stiles drew the word out before finally saying, “Dinner. Tonight. Seven.”

Peter didn’t respond immediately. When he did, his voice was low with surprise, just a fraction softer than usual. “You’re inviting me?”

“I’m inviting you on behalf of Derek,” Stiles corrected. “Technically, I’m just letting you into my house to see your nephew. This is not a license to stir shit.”

Peter hummed, clearly pleased with himself. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You better not,” Stiles said firmly. “Because I’m sticking my neck out here, okay? I’m trusting you with something important. Someone important. If this blows up in my face, I swear to God, Peter-”

“I won’t let you down,” Peter said. And he almost sounded sincere.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at nothing. “You better not. I like Eli too much to ban someone from his life over bad behavior, but I will try.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“Great. Seven sharp. Don’t be weird. Don’t bring anything. Just… try to be a normal person for an hour.”

“That’s asking quite a lot.”

“I know. Miracles and all that,” Stiles muttered. “See you tonight.”

He hung up before Peter could say anything else, tossing the phone onto the couch cushion beside him. Eli squeaked in his bassinet, and Stiles peeked over to make sure the baby was still peacefully half asleep, arms flailed dramatically above his head.

“Your great-uncle is a menace,” Stiles told him seriously. “But I’m giving him one chance. Just one.”

Eli snuffled softly in reply.

“Yeah, we’ll see how it goes.”

Chapter Text

Derek came in through the front door just after six, smelling like sawdust, paint, and sweat. His shirt clung to his back, and his hair was damp at the temples from the heat of the day. He looked exhausted but content, the way he always did after a productive day at the loft.

Stiles was at the stove, barefoot and humming off-key to whatever indie playlist was playing through the kitchen speaker. A pot was simmering gently, and the smell of garlic and rosemary had filled the house. Eli was swinging softly in his baby swing nearby, eyes wide as he tracked Stiles’s movement like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

Derek set his keys down and rubbed the back of his neck. “Smells good.”

“Thanks,” Stiles said without turning around. “You smell like a Home Depot exploded. Go shower.”

Derek arched an eyebrow. “Hi, by the way. Nice to see you too.”

Stiles glanced back over his shoulder and grinned. “Hi. Go shower. You’ve got thirty minutes before your uncle shows up for dinner.”

That made Derek freeze. “Peter’s actually coming?”

“Yep. I called him,” Stiles said, stirring the sauce. “He’s coming at seven. I told him not to be a menace.”

Derek looked like he wanted to object, but then just sighed and toed off his boots. “Couldn’t you at least warn me first?”

“I am warning you. Right now. Plus, you were the one who put it in my hands and made sure to tell me what time you’d be home.” Stiles smiled sweetly.

Derek rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the tiny upward twitch of his lips. He glanced at Eli, who was now gurgling quietly in the swing. “He okay today?”

“Total champ. We even took a walk to the park earlier. I may have accidentally taught him to respond to ‘chunky monkey.’”

Derek huffed a laugh, then leaned over the swing to brush his fingers lightly over Eli’s soft hair. “I’ll be quick.”

Stiles waited until he heard the bathroom door shut before grinning to himself and returning to the stove. He tossed in the last of the vegetables and moved to set the table - nothing fancy, but homey and comfortable, with the good plates and silverware that Noah usually reserved for holidays.

Eli let out a squeak, and Stiles glanced over.

“You heard that, huh? Yeah. Peter. I know. But hey, it’s gonna be fine. I cooked dinner. That means everything will go smoothly. That’s how this works.”

Eli kicked his legs in reply, which Stiles took as agreement.

Upstairs, the shower turned on, and Stiles finished setting out the glasses and napkins. The house was warm and buzzing with life - food in the air, music in the background, Eli cooing softly, and Derek just a floor away.

It was chaos. It was beautiful.
~~~~

The knock came at exactly 7:00 PM.

Stiles wiped his hands on a dish towel and gave Eli, who was now content in his little bouncer near the table, a look that said pray for me, tiny dude. Derek had just come downstairs, hair still damp from the shower, wearing a clean black T-shirt and soft jeans. He looked calm, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.

Stiles opened the door and there stood Peter Hale, dressed like he always was…like a wolf in Armani. His jacket was sharp, his shoes expensive, and his eyes held that too knowing gleam that had always made Stiles twitchy.

“Evening,” Peter said smoothly.

“Shoes off,” Stiles replied without preamble. “And jacket, unless you want baby spit up on Italian wool.”

Peter arched a brow but complied, toeing off his shoes and slipping his jacket over the coat rack near the door. He didn’t say a word, just took in the house. The hum of the dishwasher, the smell of baked pasta, the sound of Eli’s gurgling.

Then his gaze landed on Derek.

The air in the room changed. Not heavy, exactly, but charged. Peter’s jaw ticked once, almost imperceptibly. Derek didn’t flinch, but his posture shifted; straightening just enough to look taller, broader, more prepared.

Stiles stepped fully into Peter’s line of sight, arms crossed, blocking his view of the baby, and Derek, for now. “You get one shot at this,” he said clearly. “One. You so much as look at that kid sideways, or make Derek feel like shit and I’ll bury you in the preserve so deep even cadaver dogs won’t find the bones.”

Peter’s eyes flicked to Stiles. “Charming.”

“Dead serious,” Stiles replied. “You screw this up, I won’t just kick you out; I’ll make sure you never come within a mile of Derek or that baby again. Understood?”

A tense beat passed. Then another. And then from behind Stiles, Derek let out the faintest of snorts.

It wasn’t quite a laugh, but close enough.

Peter’s eyes shifted to his nephew, drawn like a magnet to that small expression of amusement. Derek wasn’t trying to intimidate. Wasn’t trying to posture. He was just standing there, watching Stiles throw himself in front of a, possibly crazy, Hale like it was nothing…like it was natural.

Peter’s mouth twitched and he gave a slow nod. “Understood.”

Stiles looked over his shoulder at Derek, who gave a tiny shrug and an almost smile, eyes soft.

“Alright,” Stiles muttered, stepping aside. “Come meet Eli.”

Peter stepped forward, the soft creak of the floorboards beneath his feet the only sound for a beat. He didn’t move toward Eli right away. Instead, he paused a few feet from the bouncer, studying the baby with a careful, unreadable expression.

Eli blinked up at him, kicking one tiny foot out from his blanket. His little hand waved aimlessly in the air, and he let out a small coo like he was saying well, who are you?

“This is Elias Patrick Hale,” Stiles said, voice gentler now. “Born three months ago. He likes warm bottles, hates being swaddled too tightly, and smiles when you sing off key. Which I do. A lot.”

Peter glanced briefly at Stiles, a flicker of something - amusement maybe, or appreciation - crossing his face.

Derek moved beside the bouncer, his hand brushing Eli’s chest lightly. The baby made a pleased little sigh, eyes fluttering halfway shut before opening again.

“You can come closer,” Derek said finally, voice quiet. “Just… be calm. He senses everything.”

Peter didn’t hesitate this time. He approached slowly, crouching down so he was eye level with Eli, resting one forearm on his knee. His gaze softened in a way Stiles hadn’t quite expected.

“He looks like you,” Peter said, glancing up at Derek.

Derek nodded, but his hand didn’t leave Eli. “I know.”

Peter’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “And her?”

Derek shook his head. “Gone. Wanted no part of this.”

Peter gave a small hum. “Her loss.”

There was a silence then…thick, but not suffocating. And then Eli let out a soft whimper, his little face scrunching.

Stiles moved in instantly, but Peter held up a hand. “May I?” he asked, directing the question at Derek.

Derek hesitated for the barest moment before nodding. “Support his head.”

Peter reached into the bouncer carefully, with surprising gentleness for a man known for being anything but. He gathered Eli into his arms like he’d done it before. And he probably had, years ago, with Cora or even Derek himself.

Eli blinked slowly, then curled into Peter’s chest and went still again, like he approved.

Stiles didn’t breathe for a few seconds.

Peter looked down at the bundle in his arms and said softly, “You’re the first Hale born since the fire.”

Derek flinched slightly, but Stiles stepped closer and put a hand on his back.

Peter looked up at his nephew, something fragile and guarded in his expression. “Thank you for not letting the family end.”

It wasn’t a compliment. It was more like a confession, an acknowledgment of grief and legacy, spoken aloud in the small kitchen of the Stilinski house.

Derek’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and he gave the faintest nod in return.

Stiles cleared his throat, brushing at something invisible on his jeans. “Okay, well, I’m not crying into the pasta, so let’s eat.”

Peter raised an eyebrow but followed Stiles’ lead into the dining room, Eli still snug in his arms.

Derek stayed in the kitchen a moment longer, eyes on the spot where Peter had stood, then on Stiles as he busied himself with forks and napkins.

He smiled - small but genuine.

Maybe this would work after all.
~~~~

Dinner was quiet at first.

Eli was back in his bouncer beside the table, slowly blinking heavier and heavier as the motion of Stiles’ foot rockin him lulled him toward sleep. The soft hum of his sleepy breathing was the only sound for a while, the gentle rhythm soothing but not enough to cut the tension that lingered over the table like thick fog.

Peter sat at one end, posture perfect, elbows off the table. Derek was across from him, more hunched, one hand resting on the table near his water glass but his attention flicking constantly between Eli and Peter. Stiles sat next to Derek, doing his best to chew casually and not vibrate out of his seat.

He’d made chicken parm, veggie pasta with red sauce, garlic bread, and a simple salad because he wasn’t sure what Peter ate, but even the aroma of butter and herbs didn’t mask the tight air between them.

“So,” Stiles said finally, stabbing a piece of chicken and waving it vaguely, “Peter. Been reading anything interesting lately? Still doing that weird stock trading thing? Or is that too evil billionaire stereotype even for you?”

Peter arched a brow. “Cryptocurrency. And I hardly see myself as a ‘billionaire stereotype.’ That would imply I have a yacht and wear pastel shorts.”

Stiles snorted. “So you’re halfway there.”

Peter set down his fork neatly and looked across the table. “He’s a good baby. Quiet, for now.”

Derek nodded, his jaw working. “He’s… easy. So far.”

“Not what I expected from a Hale baby,” Peter murmured, glancing at Eli, now fully asleep, tiny hand curled against his blanket. “You used to scream yourself hoarse when you were his age.”

Derek blinked, startled. “You remember that?”

“I remember all of you,” Peter said, voice a little too smooth. “Even if it feels like no one remembers me.”

Stiles tensed. Derek shifted beside him.

“That’s not fair,” Derek said tightly.

“No?” Peter replied, cool but not cruel. “Six years in a hospital bed while you ran off with Laura after Kate lit the match on all of us-”

“Peter,” Stiles cut in sharply, tone like a warning bell. “This is dinner. Not a grudge match.”

Peter looked at him. Really looked. Then nodded once, sharp and clipped, and returned to his food.

“I’m here for the boy,” Peter said after a moment. “That’s what matters.”

The silence returned, awkward and raw.

Derek reached down and gently unbuckled Eli from the bouncer. The baby stirred just slightly as Derek picked him up and cradled him against his chest, tiny head fitting perfectly in the curve of his neck.

He didn’t say anything, just ran a hand slowly over Eli’s back, grounding himself.

Stiles reached for the salad bowl and mumbled, “Next time I’m making tacos. Everyone’s too tense for silverware.”

Peter, surprisingly, let out a small, amused breath.

“I’ll bring wine,” he said, more to the baby than anyone else.

Eli let out a sigh in his sleep, unaware of the minefield of history settling around him like dust.

But Stiles watched Derek ease into his chair again with Eli curled safe and warm in his arms , and decided it was a good start. A hard one. But good.

After dinner, with the plates scraped clean and Eli now gently stirring from his nap, the tension in the room had ebbed into something softer; something cautious, but not quite hostile. Stiles picked up on the shift immediately. He stood and started stacking dishes from the table, then paused and turned to Derek, who still held Eli tucked against his chest.

“I can take him,” Stiles offered, voice low and warm. “Get him changed and settled for the night. You two should talk.”

Derek hesitated, but Stiles stepped close and held his arms out, fingers gentle as he took the baby from Derek with practiced ease. Eli made a soft sound but didn’t cry, nestling into the crook of Stiles’ shoulder like he belonged there.

Peter watched the exchange with something unreadable flickering in his expression - not quite envy, but something adjacent to longing, maybe. Regret.

“Thanks,” Derek said quietly, eyes following Eli for a beat before turning back to Peter.

Stiles headed toward the basement, whispering softly to the baby, rubbing his back as they disappeared downstairs.

Once they were gone, the quiet lingered for a moment, before Peter finally spoke.

“I’d like to be around more,” he said, voice uncharacteristically subdued. “If you’ll let me.”

Derek looked at him, brows knitting, but not in anger…just wariness. “You want to be in his life?”

“I lost six years,” Peter said. “I missed everything - the worst and the best. I know what I’ve done to you. I know I blamed you for how my life turned out and Laura’s death. I mean, you let her come here alone knowing there was a rogue werewolf. Yes, you killed him, but not before he killed your sister. I missed that, and I’ve never let you forget that, I’m aware. I know how far I am from trustworthy. But… he’s a Hale. He’s blood.”

Derek was silent for a long moment, taking in everything that Peter had to say. “He’s innocent.”

“I know.”

“He’s not a second chance to fix yourself. Or a way for you to get back at me. I’d never let you do that to him, to me.”

“I know that too,” Peter said, gaze steady. “I’m not here to redeem myself, Derek. I just want a chance to know him. Even if all I ever get to be is the weird uncle who shows up for birthdays and babysits once in a while.”

Derek leaned back, arms crossed, expression impossible to read. But he wasn’t shutting down. That was progress.

“You’re not exactly the model babysitter,” he muttered.

Peter smirked faintly. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly let him chew on wolfsbane, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

A reluctant, breath of air laugh slipped out of Derek. It didn’t last, but it lightened the heaviness between them for just a second.

Then Peter tilted his head, appraising. “What’s going on between you and Stiles?”

Derek blinked. “Nothing.”

Peter raised a brow.

“We’ve just… become close. He’s been helping. With Eli. With everything. We’ve lived together for months now. He’s my best friend.”

“Derek,” Peter said, with almost fond exasperation. “You’ve always been dense.”

From the basement, barely muffled, Stiles’ voice carried up:

“Thin fucking ice, Peter.”

There was a beat of stunned silence, then Peter barked a laugh, startled and a little delighted.

Derek smiled despite himself and shook his head. “You had that coming.”

Peter huffed, amused. “He’s protective.”

“He’s family,” Derek said quietly.

Peter nodded once. “Well, if Stiles is an honorary Hale…then maybe we’ll all be okay.”
~~~~

It started with a single buzz of Stiles’ phone during Eli’s afternoon nap. Then another. Then three in a row.

Erica: okay I’ve been patient
where’s my turn to meet baby Hale?

Boyd: Peter got to meet the baby?? Really???

Isaac: Seriously? You let Peter meet him before us? PETER?

Stiles blinked at the group chat, rubbing his eyes like maybe the sleep deprivation had finally caught up with him and he was hallucinating. Then his phone buzzed again. This time a direct message from Boyd.

Boyd: I haven’t heard from Peter in months. Dude vanished.
But today? Out of nowhere?
“Met the pup. He’s perfect. You’d better catch up.” That’s all he texted me.
Seriously, Stilinski?

Stiles let out a soft groan and dropped his forehead against the kitchen table.

“Of course Peter texted them,” he muttered to himself, half fond and half exasperated.

He picked his phone up and tapped out a reply to the group chat.

Stiles: You guys are vultures.
I was going to invite you. We were easing into things.
Peter just… it’s hard to explain. He reached out to Derek directly and somehow got to me. And he got ONE supervised dinner. You act like I gave him the baby.

Erica: Batman…We’ll be SO good. So gentle. Baby Hale deserves love and adoration and tiny leather jackets.
I have plans.

Isaac: I’ll bring cupcakes.
Or like, baby booties. Whatever makes you say yes.

Stiles: Fine.
ONE evening.
And if any of you make Eli cry, I will make sure I hurt you. Badly.

Boyd: He’s not even your baby.

Stiles: How DARE you

He set his phone down again, already imagining the chaos of three excitable teenage werewolves descending on their house like a tornado of cooing and unsolicited baby gear. He smiled to himself, though, because truthfully?

He couldn’t wait for them to meet Eli either.
~~~~

Stiles answered Derek’s call with a dramatic sigh, flopping backward onto the couch with Eli nestled in his arms.

“Hey,” Derek said, voice warm and a little amused already.

“You know,” Stiles started, “I feel like you should’ve warned me that living with you includes an unpredictable amount of dinner guests.”

Derek hummed. “Peter wasn’t unpredictable. I expected him to show up eventually.”

Stiles snorted. “Well, prepare for round two because apparently, we’re hosting a pack party tonight. Erica, Isaac, and Boyd are coming over to meet Eli. They’ll probably somehow rope Jackson in as well. I’ve already werewolf proofed the entire main floor in case Erica gets emotional and throws something.”

Derek chuckled, and Stiles could hear him smiling through the phone. “Yeah, I got the same string of overly excited texts. Erica even sent me a picture of a baby blanket she knitted last week .”

“God help us all.”

“I’ll pick up pizza and Chinese on the way home,” Derek said. “Figured we’d need options. You know Erica demands pineapple on her pizza.”

“And Isaac acts like he’s too good for it but still eats four slices.”

“Exactly.”

There was a pause on the line, warm and easy. Then Derek added quietly, “Thanks for letting them come over. I know things got… weird after the alpha thing with Scott. But this means a lot.”

Stiles glanced down at Eli, still dozing peacefully on his chest. “They’re pack, Der. And if they’re going to be in this kid’s life, they might as well be indoctrinated early.”

Derek laughed again. “Just like last night…I’ll be home by six.”

“I’ll make sure Eli’s in his best onesie,” Stiles said. “And I’ll try to keep Erica from smuggling him out under her jacket when she leaves.”

“You better,” Derek said, fondness thick in his voice. “See you soon.”
~~~~

It was one of those perfect, golden summer days - sunlight pouring through the windows, soft music playing low from Stiles’ phone on the counter, and the smell of laundry detergent lingering in the air from the load he'd tossed in earlier.

The world was quiet, but Stiles and Eli were anything but.

At three months old, Eli was discovering his voice. He kicked his feet from his baby blanket spread across the floor and squealed, cooing at the colorful mobile Stiles had clipped to the side of the baby gym.

"You're so loud, dude," Stiles said around a laugh as he leaned over and adjusted the corner of the blanket. "Like, full on screamer status already. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Eli responded with a delighted gurgle and a wet, smacking noise as he stuck his hand in his mouth.

Stiles plopped down cross legged beside him and started a full blown monologue about the comparative pros and cons of socks versus booties, gesturing animatedly as Eli stared at him like he was reciting ancient wisdom.

“You get it, right? Socks are more versatile, but booties are like… miniature shoes, and that’s both adorable and slightly threatening to my mental health.”

Eli blinked up at him, wide eyed and absolutely riveted.

Eventually, after a full cycle of playtime, a bottle, and a brief but passionate disagreement over tummy time, they ended up back on the couch, Stiles stretched out with Eli lying on his chest. The baby’s head was tucked under his chin, warm and impossibly small, his tiny fingers curled loosely in the fabric of Stiles' shirt.

The house was still. Just the soft hum of the refrigerator, the distant chirping of birds outside, and the rhythmic rise and fall of their breathing.

Stiles gently rubbed small circles on Eli’s back, cheek resting against the soft fuzz of the baby’s hair. He closed his eyes for a moment, just breathing him in. He smelt of formula, baby shampoo, Derek and the warmth of the afternoon sun.

Then, in the quietest voice he had, barely more than a breath, he whispered, “You know I love you, right?”

Eli didn’t respond, of course. At least not in words. But the baby took a breath, deep and content, like he was soaking in every ounce of affection, and nestled just a little closer.

Stiles smiled, eyes closed. “Yeah. I figured you did.”
~~~~

Derek stepped quietly through the front door, careful not to let it creak. It was barely four, but he’d wrapped up at the loft early. Drywall was up, paint drying, and the electrician wouldn’t be back until morning. He figured he’d come home and see if Stiles needed help with the baby or around the house.

But the moment he stepped into the living room, he stopped in his tracks.

Stiles and Eli were curled up together on the couch. Stiles was stretched out on his back, one arm protectively curled around the tiny baby sleeping soundly on his chest. Eli was nestled in the crook of Stiles' neck, his little hand fisted near the collar of Stiles’ t-shirt, both of them completely at peace.

The house was quiet. The living room was tidy, the laundry basket empty, bottles cleaned and drying on a towel on the counter. Clearly, Stiles had already done it all.

Derek stood there for a moment, heart caught somewhere between awe and something heavier, something warmer. He didn't even realize he was smiling until he felt it tug at the corners of his mouth.

He reached into his pocket and quietly pulled out his phone. With slow, deliberate movements, he snapped a picture - just one. Stiles, head tilted slightly to the side in sleep, and Eli, his soft little mouth parted as he breathed evenly, completely content on Stiles’ chest.

Derek took a breath, held it for a beat, then stepped forward, leaning down just a bit.

“Stiles,” he said softly, voice low and gentle. “Hey.”

Stiles stirred, his brow furrowing slightly. “M’up,” he mumbled, tightening his arm instinctively around Eli.

Derek huffed a quiet laugh. “Sorry to wake you up. Just didn’t want you to wake up with a crick in your neck.”

Stiles blinked, groggy but alert, checking on Eli first. When he saw that the baby hadn’t even twitched, he relaxed again and smiled sleepily at Derek.

“You’re home early.”

“Yeah, we got done early for the day and I wanted to help out here. Looks like you didn’t need me.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said around a yawn. “We had a big day. Talked about socks. Solved the universe.”

Derek chuckled and crouched beside them, resting a hand lightly on Eli’s back. “You guys make a good team.”

Stiles glanced at him, his eyes a little hazy with sleep, but soft. “Yeah. We do.”

Stiles shifted slightly, careful not to jostle Eli too much, though the baby was completely limp with sleep, breathing slow and steady against his chest. Derek’s hand stayed where it was, warm and grounding between Eli’s tiny shoulder blades.

“Did he give you trouble today?” Derek asked, voice still soft, like the room demanded it.

“Nah,” Stiles murmured, then smiled. “He’s been a chatterbox though. All the little noises. He has opinions. Big ones. Mostly about naps and tummy time.”

Derek smiled, thumb lightly brushing the fabric of Eli’s onesie. “I think he gets that from you.”

Stiles huffed a tired laugh. “What, being loud and dramatic?”

“And particular.”

“Wow. Rude.” Stiles grinned, but it faded a little as he looked down at Eli again. “We were just talking when he passed out. I told him I loved him. Think he heard me?”

Derek didn’t answer right away. He just looked at them - Stiles rumpled and exhausted, but glowing in a way that made something in Derek ache; Eli curled up like he belonged there, like that was where he was always meant to be.

“He heard you,” Derek said finally. “He knows.”

Stiles let his eyes drift shut again, just for a second. “Good.”

Derek rose from his crouch and reached out. “Come on. Let’s get you guys somewhere more comfortable.”

Stiles reluctantly let Derek scoop Eli up first. The baby stirred, but only a little, brow furrowing like he was about to complain before relaxing again against Derek’s chest. Stiles stood slowly, stretching with a groan.

“God, I’m old.”

“You’re seventeen,” Derek said dryly, already headed for the stairs with Eli.

“Exactly.” Stiles followed him up, rubbing his neck. “Ancient.”

Derek gave him a look over his shoulder, but it was full of quiet fondness. “Thanks for today.”

Stiles blinked, surprised. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I know,” Derek said. “But I want to.”

They got Eli settled in his crib in the basement room. Derek stood beside it for a moment, just watching him sleep, and Stiles stood just as quietly next to him.

And for a long moment, neither of them said a thing.
~~~~

At 5:30, Stiles jolted upright from where he was reorganizing the diaper caddy for the third time that week.

“Shit. Shit!” he muttered, whipping out his phone and checking the time again. “Dinner. Dinner! Why didn’t you remind me about dinner?”

Derek, sitting on the edge of the couch folding a tiny onesie,, looked up with one eyebrow arched. “What?”

“You came home early!” Stiles pointed at him like it was a personal offense. “You were supposed to bring food! The pack is gonna be here in, like, thirty minutes, and there’s nothing ready, and I-”

Derek broke into a laugh. Not a snort, not a huff - an actual laugh, deep and warm and surprising.

Stiles blinked. “Why are you laughing? This is not funny, dude, there are werewolves coming and they eat like a small army.”

Derek held up a calming hand. “Relax. Your dad offered to pick it up when he found out we were hosting again.”

Stiles stared at him. “He what?”

“He said, and I quote, ‘You’re wrangling teenagers and an infant. The least I can do is grab a couple pizzas and egg rolls.’ He’s on his way now. Should be home any minute.”

Stiles slowly sank onto the couch, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. Okay, great. That’s… actually perfect.”

Derek smirked. “Maybe don’t doubt me, or your dad. He seems to be enjoying the chaos.”

Stiles flopped sideways against the armrest, looking up at the ceiling. “He does. Which is so weird, because the moment I even mentioned Peter Hale was coming for dinner last night, he looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘Good luck with that,’ and then retreated back to the station.”

Derek chuckled again, this time quieter. “Your dad’s got good instincts.”

“Facts,” Stiles muttered, then sat up again. “Wait. Are you telling me he’s willingly coming home to hang out with Isaac and Erica and Boyd and maybe even Jackson… but drew the line at Peter?”

Derek didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

Stiles shook his head, looking both bewildered and impressed. “Man’s got priorities.”

“He likes them. Even Jackson,” Derek added with a sly smile.

“I think that says more about his tolerance than Jackson’s likability,” Stiles said.

They both paused when they heard the front door open, followed by Noah’s familiar footsteps and a cheerful, “Hope someone’s got a table clear - there’s enough food in here to feed the whole damn preserve!”

Stiles grinned, already heading for the front room. “God, I love that man.”

Derek watched him go, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and murmured to himself, “Yeah. Me too.”
~~~~

The chaos began the moment the front door opened for the second time that hour.

Isaac was the first one in, barely waiting for Noah to step aside before he burst into the Stilinski house, calling out, “Where’s the baby? Where is he? I brought him a hat!”

“You brought - what?” Stiles blinked as Isaac shoved a tiny, knitted gray beanie into his hands and kept moving, following the faint sound of cooing from downstairs.

Erica and Boyd were next, dragging a bickering Jackson behind them. Erica had a gift bag in one hand, the other twined with Boyd’s fingers. She looked positively giddy. “Stiles, if you tell me I can’t hold him, I will riot.”

“Do you even know how to hold a baby?” Jackson asked, already eyeing the nearest mirror to check his hair.

“Better than you,” Erica snapped.

“I’m not letting you near him if you’re going to fight,” Stiles warned as they all stampeded down the stairs.

Eli was in Derek’s arms, wrapped in a soft blue blanket, his head tucked against Derek’s shoulder as he made quiet, contented little noises. The baby didn’t cry, not right away, at least, but his little brow furrowed as the pack came into view and all started talking at once.

“Is that him?”

“He’s so small.”

“Look at his little fingers.”

“I think I’m going to cry.”

Derek turned slowly to face the herd of teens approaching, his eyes wary and protective. “Back up. You have to approach one at a time.”

Boyd, to everyone’s shock, stepped forward first. He didn’t speak, just stared at Eli with wide, soft eyes, like he couldn’t believe the baby was real. His entire demeanor shifted - gone was the reserved, stoic wolf. Instead, he looked enchanted. He leaned forward just enough to let Eli grab his pinky with one tiny hand.

“Oh my God,” Stiles said from behind them. “It’s like seeing a unicorn.”

Erica laughed, slapping Boyd’s shoulder. “You’re totally going to be the baby’s favorite uncle, aren’t you?”

Boyd didn’t even argue. He just smiled - a real, warm, bright smile - and said softly, “He’s perfect.”

Isaac, already hovering over Derek’s shoulder, looked like he was seconds away from combusting. “Can I hold him now? Please?”

“Only if you sit down,” Derek said firmly.

Isaac immediately dropped onto the bed, practically vibrating with anticipation. Stiles brought over a pillow and helped him adjust it, then Derek gently, slowly passed Eli over. The moment Eli was in Isaac’s arms, the baby gave a soft sigh and snuggled closer, cheek squishing adorably against Isaac’s chest.

“I think my heart just exploded,” Isaac whispered.

Erica was next, then Boyd, and finally, begrudgingly, Jackson, who complained the whole time but didn’t hand Eli back for a solid ten minutes.

Derek stood off to the side, arms crossed, his posture still tense but his eyes impossibly soft as he watched the scene unfold. Stiles moved next to him, bumping his shoulder with his own.

“They love him already,” Stiles murmured.

Derek glanced down at him, lips curving into a faint smile. “He’s kind of hard not to love.”

“You did good, Hale.”
~~~~

Dinner with Noah, Stiles, Derek, Boyd, Isaac, Erica, Jackson, and baby Eli was a controlled disaster in the way only pack dinners could be.

The dining table was stretched to its limits. Stiles had dragged over a folding table from the garage, and mismatched chairs surrounded it. Pizza boxes and Chinese takeout containers dominated the center, a chaotic buffet of orange chicken, lo mein, pepperoni, dumplings, and garlic knots. Plastic forks clattered. Someone spilled sweet and sour sauce on a napkin and used it anyway.

Erica talked with her hands. Loudly.

"-and then he actually tried to tell the teacher I was the one cheating, and I was like, 'Sir, if I was cheating, I'd have an A, not a C minus!'"

Jackson rolled his eyes. "Your logic is tragic."

"Your hair is tragic," she fired back.

"Be nice!" Noah barked from his seat near the end of the table, though his mouth was full of spring roll and his tone lacked bite.

Stiles was bouncing between the kitchen and the table like a squirrel on espresso, refilling water, grabbing napkins, and taking Eli from Derek so the man could actually eat. Eli was strapped to Stiles’ chest in a soft gray baby wrap, wide-eyed and occasionally burbling into Stiles’ shirt.

“I swear to God, if you drop sesame chicken on this baby, I will fight you,” Stiles said as Jackson reached over him for a container, chopsticks waving dangerously close to Eli’s head.

“I’m coordinated,” Jackson protested.

“You’re a menace,” Derek muttered, stabbing a dumpling.

Boyd was the only one eating in peace, mostly because Eli kept staring at him every time he spoke, which made Boyd speak softer, slower, almost reverently. Erica teased him mercilessly.

“Boyd has a baby voice,” she said, giggling. “A real baby voice. It’s so soft. My ovaries are screaming.”

Noah made a strangled sound and pushed back from the table. “I’m going to get more napkins before this conversation traumatizes me for life.”

Eli, as if sensing the overwhelming energy in the room, let out a sudden loud squawk. Stiles immediately looked down and started swaying. “It’s okay, buddy. You’re safe. These people are just loud and weird.”

“I resent that,” Erica said. Then, to Eli she said, “But he’s not wrong.”

Derek finally stood and reached for Eli, lifting him gently from Stiles' chest. The baby went quiet instantly, settling against Derek like a warm little weight. The whole room stilled for a heartbeat.

It was always like that - the moment Derek held Eli, everything just… settled.

Stiles caught the look Boyd gave them and rolled his eyes fondly. “Yeah, yeah, Papa Wolf over there wins Best Parent again. I’m just the fun uncle.”

“You’re the mother hen,” Jackson said with a smirk. “You cluck. I’ve heard it.”

“Get out of my house,” Stiles deadpanned, pointing his chopsticks at the door.

Noah came back in with clean napkins, saw Derek cradling Eli while the rest of the pack bickered over orange chicken, and gave a heavy sigh before sitting down again. “God help me, I missed this.”

“Missed what?” Derek asked without looking up from Eli.

Noah smiled. “Family dinners.”

Stiles pretended to scoff, but his grin betrayed him as he slid another slice of pizza onto Derek’s plate and leaned just a little closer to the people who had, somehow, become his family too.
~~~~

That night, the house finally settled into quiet, but Eli didn’t.

He was fussier than usual, wriggling in Stiles' arms with tiny, unhappy sounds. His little face crumpled into frustrated cries every time Stiles tried to rock him still, his legs kicking like he was trying to voice some great injustice. Stiles bounced gently on the balls of his feet, murmuring into Eli’s soft hair.

"I know, buddy, I know. Too many loud voices. Too many people kissing your cheeks. I told Erica you weren’t ready for lipstick kisses but did she listen? Nooo.”

Derek, sprawled out on the bed with one arm behind his head, watched quietly. His eyes were half lidded, his shirt untucked, but his expression was alert, thoughtful.

“I think he’s overwhelmed,” Stiles said quietly, rubbing soothing circles on Eli’s back. “It’s been two nights of non stop chaos. New people. New scents. Peter.”

Derek nodded. “I don’t disagree. He’s still getting used to the world. And now the world smells like Chinese food and Jackson’s hair gel.”

Stiles let out a breath that was almost a laugh, even as he moved around the room, still holding Eli. With one hand, he began picking up stray bottles and burp cloths, tucking them into the drawer beside the changing table. He grabbed an extra pacifier from the floor and set it aside to sanitize..

Derek didn’t offer to help. He didn’t need to. He’d lost the fight a month in when Stiles was already in baby wrangling mode, Derek wasn’t to step in unless he felt he needed to. He just watched, his eyes tracking every careful move Stiles made with the baby.

Eventually, Eli’s cries softened into hiccupy breaths, and then into nothing. His small body relaxed against Stiles’ chest, hands curled into fists near his mouth. Stiles took a long, slow breath and padded over to the crib, lowering Eli inside with the tenderness of someone setting down a piece of their own soul. He hovered for a moment, watching to make sure Eli stayed asleep.

Then he turned and crossed to the bed, wordlessly, shoulders sagging with exhaustion.

He climbed in and made a point of choosing the edge farthest from Derek - arms folded under his head, his back to him. “Just five minutes,” he mumbled. “Then I’ll finish cleaning the bottles and go to my own room.”

Derek didn’t say anything.

He didn’t get the chance to.

Because by the time Stiles’ head hit the pillow, his breathing had already evened out. He was out cold, hair tousled, lips parted slightly. Derek watched for a beat longer, then sat up carefully, quietly. He padded to the kitchen, cleaned the bottles himself, finished the dishes from dinner and dimmed the lights.

When he came back to the room, Eli was still fast asleep in the crib.

And Stiles was fast asleep in Derek's bed.

Chapter Text

The rest of July passed in a sun drenched blur - quiet, chaotic, and somehow perfect.

Eli grew steadily, a little bigger each week, his face filling out, his cries louder, his smiles more frequent. He was still just a baby - he didn’t do much besides eat, sleep, fuss, yell for no reason other than he learned how and surprise them with the occasional gurgling giggle that made everyone in the room melt. But for Stiles, every coo, every yawn, every hiccup was magic.

Days began with sleepy baby snuggles in the rocking chair, Eli blinking up at him like he was the entire world. Then came stroller walks around the neighborhood while Stiles rambled about comic book plotlines and ancient mythology. Eli would stare at trees like they held answers to the universe.

When Noah worked nights, he was often there in the afternoons, still in his uniform shirt, cradling Eli on his shoulder while teasing Stiles about the bags under his eyes or the amount of spit up on his shirt. But he always had a soft smile on his face, always asked how Derek was doing at the loft, and never once missed a chance to kiss Eli’s head before heading out.

Meanwhile, Derek poured his focus into the loft.

He worked with methodical care - fixing drywall, sanding floors, rewiring light fixtures. But somewhere in the middle of installing the new shelves in the living room, he paused.

He stared at the layout for a long moment, brow furrowed.

He was leaving too much vertical space between the middle shelves. Enough for thick paperbacks and oversized hardcovers.

Stiles’ books.

He didn’t even own that many books.

Derek stepped back, arms crossed, scowling softly at himself.

We don’t live together. Stiles won’t live here. I’m just staying with them temporarily until the loft is done.

But he stared another beat longer. Then he grabbed his tape measure and adjusted the height of the last shelf - just enough to fit a row of ridiculous fantasy novels and psychology textbooks he knows Stiles will have in the next couple of years.

He finished it anyway.

And he didn’t regret it.

Evenings were slow and golden. Derek would come home covered in sawdust and sweat, the smell of paint clinging to his skin. Stiles would greet him with a sarcastic, “Nice look, Bob the Builder,” while handing off a sleepy Eli. Derek always took him with reverent care, pressing his nose to Eli’s hair like it reset something inside him.

Dinner was a mix of leftovers, delivery, and Stiles cooking. Eli would sleep in his bassinet nearby, occasionally letting out a shriek just for the drama of it. Sometimes he fussed for no reason at all, just cranky and needy, his face going red.

They didn’t mind.

Nights changed, too. After that first time Stiles crashed on Derek’s bed, it became a quiet pattern. Stiles would wander in late, yawning, mutter, “Just five minutes,” and promptly pass out next to Derek with a pillow over his face. At first it was awkward - careful, polite distance.

Then it wasn’t.

Then it was normal.

Derek would shift, press his back to the wall, and let Stiles’ shoulder brush his. Sometimes they’d talk in the dark - about nothing, about everything. Sometimes they'd just lie there, listening to the white noise machine and Eli’s soft breathing from the crib.

It was easy. It was fun. It was something else entirely that neither of them had the courage to name yet.

But every morning, when Derek woke to find Stiles tangled in the blanket beside him - one hand dangling toward the crib like he was guarding Eli even in sleep - Derek would think, this life is perfect.
~~~~

It was early August, and the air was thick with the kind of heat that made everything shimmer and slow down. Stiles had just gotten Eli to sleep after an hour long battle that involved two bottles, three pacifiers, and an embarrassing amount of baby talk. He was sprawled on the couch, one leg hanging off the side, when the front door opened.

Derek stepped in, flushed from the sun and practically glowing - which was rare enough to make Stiles sit up straight.

“Why do you look like you’re about to propose to someone?” Stiles asked, squinting.

Derek just smiled and wiped a hand down his face. “I’ve got something to show you.”

Stiles blinked. “Okay… Is this like a ‘you finally finished the bookshelf’ kind of something? Or a ‘look, I installed a panic room’ kind of something?”

Derek ignored him and turned toward the kitchen where Noah was sipping a glass of lemonade and reading the paper. “Can you watch Eli for a little bit?”

Noah looked up, immediately clocking the energy radiating off Derek. “Of course. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Derek said. “Better than okay.”

Stiles was already grabbing his shoes, grinning. “Alright, alright, I’m coming. Jeez. If this is a surprise werewolf fight club, I swear to God…”

But when Derek opened the door to the loft fifteen minutes later, all the jokes died in Stiles’ throat.

It was…breathtaking.

Gone was the hollow, echoing space he remembered from the beginning of the summer. The floors were warm wood now, sanded and stained to a soft chestnut. Pale sunlight spilled in through the tall windows, bouncing off whitewashed walls and exposed brick. The living area had cozy couches, open shelving, and an electric fireplace with built in cabinets on either side.

And then Derek tugged him gently down the hallway and pushed open a soft green door.

The nursery was perfect.

Not good. Not fine. Perfect.

There was a crib tucked into one corner, sunlight bathing the pale blue walls in gold. A mobile of little wolves and stars spun lazily overhead. There was a rocking chair - an exact replica of Stiles’ rocking chair, the one he'd claimed in the Stilinski basement. A dresser already stocked with diapers, wipes, wipes warmer, even a drawer labeled emergency backup binkies. There were little books lining the shelf Derek had installed at the perfect height for a toddler to someday reach.

And across the wall, in soft silver letters painted just above the crib, it read:
Eli Hale.

Stiles stepped forward slowly, eyes wide, breath caught somewhere in his throat.

“You did all this?” he whispered.

Derek nodded, standing behind him, hands in his pockets. “I wanted it to feel like home. For him. For me.”

“It does,” Stiles said, stunned. “It really does.”

He turned, and Derek smiled softly at him, clearly proud, clearly expecting something like awe or maybe even a little teasing. What he didn’t expect was for Stiles’ face to crumple.

It started slow. Just a twitch of his brow, a wobble in his jaw. But then it hit him all at once.

“Oh,” Stiles said quietly, like he’d just been punched. “Oh.”

“Stiles?”

Stiles staggered back a step, one hand rising instinctively to his chest. His breathing started to hitch - sharp, shallow gulps of air that didn’t seem to reach his lungs. His eyes went wide as they started to fill with tears he didn’t understand.

“Hey. Hey, hey, what’s happening?” Derek stepped forward, reaching out, but not touching. “Are you - are you having a panic attack?”

Stiles nodded rapidly, then shook his head. “I - no. I don’t know - I can’t - Derek, I-”

“Okay, okay, sit down. Just sit down.” Derek guided him to the rocking chair, crouching beside it, his voice calm and steady. “Breathe with me. In through your nose.”

Stiles gasped, trying to follow, but it was messy. His hands were shaking.

“You’re okay,” Derek said softly. “Just breathe. You’re safe.”

After a few minutes of quiet coaching - Derek breathing with him, talking low and steady - the panic began to ebb, leaving Stiles trembling and wide-eyed.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispered, wiping his face with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Derek said, still crouched by his knee. “Talk to me. What happened?”

Stiles let out a shaky laugh that caught in his throat. “It just hit me. That you’re moving out. That Eli’s not gonna be there anymore. I won’t be there for the late nights or the early mornings or the mid day snuggles or his little baby grumbles when he’s hungry - he always does that thing where he snorts like a tiny pig, you know? And I’ll miss it. I’ll miss him. And you.”

Derek didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at him, stunned.

“You’ve become part of his routine,” Derek said finally. “He looks for you when you’re not in the room.”

Stiles sniffled. “I’m gonna miss him so much, man.”

Derek reached out this time, resting a hand on Stiles’ knee. “Who says you have to?”

Stiles blinked at him.

“You think I built this loft without thinking about you?” Derek said, his voice quieter now. “Half of that bookshelf is for your books. You’re already part of our life. You don’t have to disappear. It just won’t be as…hands on anymore.”

Stiles let out a long, shaky exhale.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay.”

Derek gave his knee a gentle squeeze. “Come on. I’ll show you the kitchen. You’ll hate the layout and spend an hour reorganizing the spice rack.”

Stiles huffed a laugh, still sniffling. “That’s how you know I love ya, big guy.”

Derek froze.

Stiles froze.

They both stared at each other - eyes wide, breathing quiet.

Neither of them corrected it, but they didn’t talk about it either.
~~~~

Stiles was still there - fully present in the way only Stiles could be.

He was up before the baby monitor even chirped, padding barefoot down the stairs with a yawn and messy hair, scooping Eli up like it was the highlight of his morning. He still rocked him during the early naps, walked laps around the living room with him tucked against his chest, whispering stories about Greek gods and alien invasions. He danced around the kitchen with Eli in one arm and a bottle in the other, humming off-key to ‘80s songs he said Noah played too much growing up.

From the outside, nothing had changed.

Stiles still made Derek’s lunch and packed it with dumb little notes (“Don’t forget to hydrate or I will scold you in front of your child, that’d be embarrassing”). He still kept the nursery stocked and somehow always knew when Derek had a rough night based on how loud Eli’s grumbles were. He still made dinner every night, sometimes alone, sometimes with Erica tossing herbs in his hair just to be annoying.

But… there was something off.

It was in the quiet moments. When Eli was asleep on his chest and Stiles stared off into the distance just a second too long. When he laughed at Isaac’s jokes, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. When he folded Eli’s clothes like it might be the last time he’d ever get to.

The wolves noticed first - of course they did.

Boyd said nothing, just gave Stiles a look now and then that was too gentle for someone with shoulders that broad. Erica watched like she was waiting for a crack to form, her jokes softer around the edges. Isaac offered to help with Eli more often than usual, but always let Stiles hover close. Even Jackson didn’t say anything snide, and that alone was alarming.

Peter, surprisingly, said the most - and that was still not much.

He came around a few times, kept his visits short, but watched Stiles more than he watched Eli. When he finally pulled Derek aside one evening while Eli was asleep and Stiles was washing bottles, he murmured, “You’ve noticed it, haven’t you?”

Derek had. Of course he had.

The way Stiles’ smiles didn’t last. How his shoulders curled in when he thought no one was watching. That way he kept doing things - not because he needed to, but because standing still seemed unbearable.

But Derek didn’t bring it up. He didn’t push.

He just let Stiles do what he needed: fuss over Eli, tidy the nursery three times a day, re-label the wipes container, fold the baby blankets so perfectly it was almost meditative. He let Stiles hover. Let him carry Eli around for hours. Let him press soft kisses to the top of Eli’s head before handing him over like it hurt to do so.

And when the pack was around - Peter in the armchair, Boyd playing peekaboo, Erica trying to make Eli laugh - Stiles was still right there, the glue holding everyone together.

But the wolves smelled grief before it was even spoken.

And Derek? Derek just watched him, silently promising himself that when the time was right, he’d fix it - if Stiles would let him.
~~~~

Noah came home late that evening, wearied from a long shift and craving a shower, a sandwich, and maybe ten minutes of silence. But when he walked through the front door, the house felt still - too still. No music, no soft baby noises, no quiet murmur of Stiles talking Eli’s ear off. He wanted the quiet, but it felt too charged like this.

Frowning, Noah toed off his shoes and headed downstairs.

He found Stiles in the basement, kneeling beside the dresser. A small duffel bag sat open on the floor, half filled with folded baby onesies and a few of Derek’s clean shirts. There was a bottle of formula set aside on the changing table, and a half packed box of diapers next to it. The crib still stood exactly where it always had, soft sheets and Eli’s favorite stuffed elephant waiting patiently inside.

Noah leaned against the doorframe and sighed quietly.

“Big day’s coming soon, huh?” he said gently.

Stiles looked up.

His eyes were glassy, red rimmed. There were no dramatic sobs, no shaking hands, just quiet devastation, hanging off his shoulders like soaked wool. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t quite get the words out.

“Aw hell, kid,” Noah said, crossing the room in three long strides. He sat down heavily beside his son on the floor, knees cracking as he went. “I don’t want them to go either.”

Stiles let out a weak laugh, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. “It just sucks, ya know? I want this for them. I do. I want Derek to have a house that’s his. I want Eli to have his own space, his nursery, stability... everything Derek wants and needs.”

Noah nodded slowly.

“But-” Stiles’ voice cracked. “Why does it hurt so much?”

Noah was quiet for a moment, then placed a warm, steady hand on Stiles’ back.

“Because you love them, kiddo. That’s why. Because Derek’s your best friend. And he’s been here for almost four months. You two built a whole life together in that time - diaper schedules, late night feedings, inside jokes, family dinners. And Eli…” He smiled faintly, his voice growing a little rougher. “Eli’s the biggest part of your days. He’s your whole damn world right now.”

Stiles sniffled and nodded, folding one of Eli’s tiny shirts with trembling hands.

“It’s gonna be an adjustment, sure,” Noah said. “But listen - we’re not erasing any of this. The room stays just like it is. That crib, the bed, the rocker - it all stays. They can come over whenever they want. You can still have this.”

He paused, squeezing Stiles’ shoulder gently.

“And you’ll be eighteen in six weeks. Legally? I can’t stop you from spending your time at Derek’s place if that’s what you want. Not that I would. Not even a little. You just have to stay in school.”

Noah leaned his head back against the wall and sighed.

“Where you spend your time after that, bud... that’s your choice.”

Stiles let out a slow, shaking breath and leaned into his dad’s side, finally allowing himself to sag with exhaustion.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Noah didn’t say anything more. He didn’t need to. He just sat there beside his son, grounding him, letting him feel the weight of love and change - and the truth that even though it was hard, this was the kind of hurt that only came from something real.
~~~~

The front door clicked open just as Derek was mid thought about stopping for groceries, his keys still in hand when he heard the chaos from downstairs - Stiles shouting, laughter echoing, and something that sounded suspiciously like baby war cries.

Derek arched a brow at Noah, who was shedding his jacket near the coat rack and chuckling to himself already.

“I don’t know what you’re walking into,” Noah said, “but it’s been loud for about twenty minutes.”

They both stepped down into the basement and paused at the doorway, taking in the scene: Stiles was rolling around on the floor like a lunatic, grinning ear to ear, one arm stretched dramatically above his head as he giggled, “He’s rolling! He’s rolling with me! Look at that coordination! Look at that baby core strength!”

On his play mat beside him, Eli was very seriously rolling onto his side, then his stomach, and then back - his own little victory lap. He made a delighted squeal, flailed one arm, and bumped into Stiles, who immediately clutched his chest like he’d been shot.

“This is it, Derek,” Stiles said, not even noticing they'd arrived. “Your son is officially a tiny genius. Rolling at four months? Mensa is shaking. Shaking!”

Derek didn't have the heart to tell him it was a perfectly normal age for him to be rolling over.

Then, with pure affection and no self preservation, Stiles cupped Eli’s chubby face between both hands and squished his cheeks.

“You’re so cute, and you’re so smart, and - OW! Oh my god!”

Stiles jerked back in horror, flailing slightly as he cradled his injured finger.

“Your kid just bit me!” he shrieked, eyes wide. “AND THERE’S A TOOTH IN THERE! He bit me with an actual weapon in his mouth!”

Noah leaned against the doorframe and howled with laughter.

Derek, to his credit, went into concerned dad mode instantly. He dropped to his knees beside the baby, gently tilting Eli’s face upward and coaxing his little mouth open with practiced ease. Eli blinked up at him innocently, as if he hadn’t just tried to take a chunk out of Stiles’ hand.

And there, right in the center of his bottom gumline, was a single, pearl white tooth poking through.

Derek groaned like a man who had just realized his peaceful days were numbered. “Oh god,” he muttered, brushing a finger against it gently. “He’s gonna be a biter.”

That was enough to send Stiles completely over the edge.

He collapsed backward on the rug, laughing so hard he wheezed, his arms flopping dramatically. “You’re doomed. Doomed! I’m gonna start wearing chainmail when I babysit!”

Noah was still laughing so hard his eyes were watering.

Derek didn’t even try to stop the smile curling at his lips as he sat back and looked at his son, who was now drooling contentedly and chewing on his own fist like he’d done nothing wrong.

“Great,” Derek muttered. “I’m raising a piranha.”

“Correction,” Stiles said from the floor, still clutching his finger. “You’re raising the cutest, most vicious little werewolf in the western hemisphere.”

Eli burbled proudly.

And despite the danger to everyone’s fingers, no one could stop smiling.
~~~~

The house was quiet in that heavy, sacred way it only got after a long day of laughter and tiny chaos.

Eli had finally passed out, sprawled like a starfish in his crib, face pink and warm from his latest round of frustrated teething. His little breaths were uneven, catching now and then in that fussy way overtired babies did, but he was asleep - and for now, that was all that mattered.

The nightlight cast a soft amber glow across the room, brushing gently against the edges of the crib and the bed where Stiles lay curled on his side. He was facing the crib, one hand tucked under his cheek, eyes heavy and unreadable as he just… watched Eli breathe.

Derek sat on the other side of the bed, leaning against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him, a book resting but forgotten on his lap. He’d been pretending to read for the last twenty minutes, but his gaze kept drifting to the boy beside him.

After a while, Stiles finally whispered, voice hoarse and quiet:

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess. I really don’t know how it happened.”

Derek looked up immediately, turning slightly to face him.

“I don’t think you’re a mess,” Derek said softly. “I think it’s a big change. I’m…” He hesitated, eyes flicking from Stiles to Eli and back again. “I’m the one that’s sorry that we’re moving out. I didn’t realize how hard it would be until it was actually happening.”

Stiles gave a sharp, broken little breath that might have been a laugh - or maybe a sob.

“It’s going to be so weird,” he said, voice trembling. “I won’t have baby cries at 2 a.m., or your weird pacing when he does sleep through the night and somehow that’s just as distressing to you. I won’t be washing bottles or getting spit up on my shirt four times a day. I won’t…”

His voice cracked fully now, and he blinked fast, trying to stop the tears.

“I won’t have you guys here.”

A tear rolled down his cheek and landed on the pillow beneath him.

Derek’s heart clenched.

He watched him for a beat, unsure - then slowly reached out, placed a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, and gave a gentle tug.

“C’mere.”

Stiles resisted for half a second, then let himself roll toward Derek, eyes red, face crumpling.

Derek met him halfway, shifting so they were facing each other on the mattress. He didn’t say anything at first, just reached up and brushed a tear off Stiles’ cheek with his thumb. His touch was rough, but his hand lingered like he didn’t want to let go.

“I don’t want to go either,” Derek admitted. “I thought I did. I thought the loft was everything I needed. But this house, this room… you-”

Stiles let out a shaky breath, his lip trembling.

“You’ve been part of this from day one, Stiles. Not just helping, but here. You made this home for us.”

“I don’t want to lose it,” Stiles whispered.

“You won’t.” Derek’s voice was steady, his fingers still resting against Stiles’ cheek. “We’re not going anywhere you can’t follow.”

The silence that followed was soft and full. Eli shifted in the crib behind them, murmured a little sigh in his sleep.

Stiles reached up and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Promise?” he said quietly.

“I promise,” Derek said.

And then, in the hush of the night, with Eli breathing soft behind them and the space between them smaller than it had ever been, they just stayed like that - close, hearts thudding quietly in time, knowing without saying it that things were changing.

But they didn’t have to change alone.
~~~~

Derek stood outside the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Station for a full five minutes before he finally worked up the nerve to walk in. The building was familiar in the way only constant low grade anxiety could make something feel - flashing fluorescent lights, the hum of the soda machine, the slightly scorched smell from the old coffee maker.

He’d been here countless times. For help. For interviews. For pack drama. For Noah.

But this time was different.

He didn’t pause at the front desk. He didn’t need to. He knew exactly where he was going.

Noah looked up from a stack of reports as Derek approached, his sheriff's uniform slightly rumpled from what had clearly already been a long day.

“You okay?” Noah asked immediately, setting down his pen, brow furrowed in concern. “Is Eli okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Derek said quickly, lifting a calming hand. “Everyone’s fine. It’s not - It’s not an emergency.”

Noah narrowed his eyes but leaned back in his chair, listening.

“I just…” Derek glanced down at the floor, gathering himself. Then he met Noah’s gaze with that focused, quiet intensity he rarely turned on anyone. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Noah arched a brow.

Derek hesitated. His heart was pounding. He looked down again before speaking. “I think I have feelings for Stiles.”

The words came out low, but sure.

The silence that followed felt like a crash of stillness.

Derek didn’t dare look up for a second, but the quiet stretched on long enough that he finally risked a glance.

Noah’s expression was unreadable. Impassive. Still.

“God-” Derek started, his throat suddenly dry. “I’m sorry, I - if this is too much, or out of line, or-”

Noah raised one hand, cutting him off smoothly.

“Sorry, kid,” he said, completely deadpan. “But I’m just waiting for you to tell me something I don’t already know.”

Derek blinked. “You… knew?”

“I guessed it last month ten seconds after watching your eyes turn into literal cartoon hearts one night while Stiles was calming Eli down by singing Hungry Like the Wolf at 2 a.m.,” Noah said, utterly serious. “Which, by the way, was as horrifying as it was effective.”

Derek opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“I also know,” Noah continued, folding his arms, “that you haven’t acted on these feelings yet. I can tell. As Stiles’ dad, I appreciate that. And as the Sheriff of a still minor for five more weeks son…” He paused, leveling Derek with a pointed look. “I appreciate it even more.”

Derek gave a slow, reluctant nod, shoulders tight.

“I would never do anything to make him uncomfortable,” Derek said earnestly. “I would never cross a line.”

Noah studied him a short beat before nodding. “I know.”

Another silence, this one less tense. A little easier.

Then Noah sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I’m not gonna lie to you, Derek. The idea of my son growing up this fast scares the hell out of me. But I also know he’s been smiling more these past few months than he has in years.”

Derek’s gaze softened.

Noah’s voice did too. “And I know that’s got everything to do with you and that baby of yours.”

Derek swallowed. “Thank you.”

Noah stood, stepping around the desk and clapping a firm hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Just don’t be an idiot.”

“No promises,” Derek muttered.

Noah grinned. “Well. At least you’re honest.”

Derek stepped out of the station, still running a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the strange weight of having just confessed feelings for Stiles to the boy’s dad. It hadn’t gone badly - in fact, it had gone about as well as it possibly could have - but it still left a nervous buzz in his chest.

He was halfway down the front steps when he saw him.

Peter, dressed immaculately in dark jeans and a tailored jacket that probably cost more than Derek’s entire wardrobe, was leaning against the passenger side of a sleek black car. His arms were crossed, expression unreadable, but his brow ticked up slightly when their eyes met.

“Sheriff’s station?” Peter asked, clearly amused. “Did you finally kill someone, or just considering it and wanted to turn yourself in anyway?”

Derek almost rolled his eyes. Almost. Instead, he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket and sighed. “Just talking to Noah.”

Peter pushed off the car with a lazy grace and walked over, his shoes quiet against the pavement. The air between them was a little strained, heavy with old wounds neither of them were quite ready to re open, but the quiet tension didn’t feel hostile. Just… unfinished.

Derek hesitated, then, surprising even himself, said, “You doing anything right now?”

Peter arched a brow. “Define doing. If this is your awkward way of asking me to brunch, I have to say, I’m touched.”

“I meant the loft,” Derek said dryly, but there was a flicker of something genuine behind his words. “It’s almost finished. I figured you might want to see it.”

Peter stilled, just slightly.

Something unreadable flickered behind his eyes, but then he gave a slow nod. “Lead the way.”

The loft was soaked in late afternoon sun by the time they arrived, and as soon as Peter stepped inside, he stopped in his tracks.

The light floors, the high vaulted ceilings, the open plan layout - it wasn’t identical to the Hale house before the fire, but the bones were there. The warmth, the simplicity, the quiet intention behind every design choice.

For once, Peter didn’t say anything immediately. He walked slowly through the space, trailing his fingers along the long kitchen island, glancing at the floor to ceiling bookshelves in the living room, the cozy sitting area with soft earth toned pillows.

He turned slowly to look at Derek.

“It’s… familiar,” he said finally. There was no bite in his voice, no edge. Just quiet nostalgia. “It’s not the same. But it feels like home.”

Derek stood a little straighter, watching him. “That’s what I wanted.”

Peter gave a small nod, then turned his attention to the shelves again.

He squinted.

“You know,” he said slowly, “I don’t remember you ever owning this many books. And unless you’ve recently developed a taste for dog eared paperbacks, I’m going to take a wild guess…”

Derek rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “They’re…for Stiles.”

Peter didn’t say anything right away. He just looked around again, this time with a new kind of understanding. His eyes landed on the beanbag in the far corner, the giant white board on wheels by the window. Little signs of Stiles all over the place.

“He’d be a perfect Alpha-Mate,” Peter said eventually, tone low but certain. “He already is. He keeps the betas in line, he’s a better parent than most people twice his age, and he’d burn the world down if it meant protecting your pup.”

Derek looked away, his throat tight. “It’s not… We haven’t… He’s not even eighteen yet.”

“I know,” Peter said softly. He turned to face Derek fully now, the air between them heavier with memory and unspoken pain. “I know you won’t do anything. I know you. And I know you don’t want to be her.”

Derek’s jaw clenched.

Peter’s voice gentled.

“But you’re not, Derek. You never could be.”

Silence filled the space between them again, but this time it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was grounding. Solid.

Derek finally looked up, his eyes raw. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Peter offered the smallest hint of a smile. “You’re building a life. A real one. That’s more than most people get.”
~~~~

When Derek stepped back into the house after showing Peter the loft, the familiar warmth wrapped around him like a soft blanket. The late afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting gentle stripes of gold across the living room floor.

There, on the couch, Stiles lay sprawled out, utterly passed out, his head resting against the armrest. Eli was curled up on Stiles’ chest, tiny chest rising and falling in sleepy rhythm with his sleeping packmate. The baby’s soft coos and murmurs mixed with the steady, even breathing of a young man completely exhausted but utterly content.

Derek paused, watching the quiet scene unfold before him. His chest tightened - not with jealousy or frustration, but with a deep, aching surge of something raw and protective.

His wolf stirred beneath his skin, prickling with awareness. Now that Peter had dropped the term Alpha-Mate like a stone into the still water, Derek’s inner beast wasn’t just alert - it was actively agitated.

He could feel the pull, the magnetic draw toward Stiles and Eli on the couch. His wolf ached to be close, to wrap them both in a thick, unbreakable shield scented with the unmistakable mark of their alpha. To surround them with the heavy, comforting presence of their pack, the scent that said safe, belonging, home.

He imagined curling up beside them, nudging Eli gently with his nose, whispering warmth and protection through every fiber of his being. To build a den here - in this very house - fortified with love and quiet strength, a place no outside threat could breach.

His breath hitched.

Jesus Christ, Derek thought, eyes darkening. I am so far gone.

Because this was no longer just about survival or duty. This was about heart. About a future he hadn’t dared imagine - one tangled with the bright chaos of Stiles and the fragile, fierce life of Eli.

And his wolf wanted it all. Wanted to claim it, guard it, and never, ever let go.
~~~~

Derek found Stiles in the basement one evening, sitting cross legged on the floor beside Eli’s crib, softly humming while Eli batted sleepily at his own fingers. The room was quiet except for their gentle breaths and the faint creak of the house settling around them.

Derek’s heart tightened with the weight of what he had to say. He took a slow breath and sat down on the edge of the bed nearby, his voice low but steady.

“I’m moving out on the fifteenth,” he said. “Which is only three days from now. And only a week before school starts.”

Stiles didn’t say anything for a moment, just continued watching Eli, as the news settled inside him.

Then, almost quietly, Stiles said, “I’m weirdly okay with that now.”

Derek looked at him, surprised, but Stiles didn’t meet his eyes right away. Instead, he traced lazy circles on Eli’s tiny hand.

“It hurts,” Stiles admitted, voice rough but calm. “I hate it. But after talking with my dad… and talking with you… I’m more confident that things will change, but they won’t disappear. Not really.”

Derek’s chest eased a little, relief pooling in his gut.

Stiles looked up then, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips.

“We should have a ‘going away, hey look you have a new house’ party,” he said. “Have the pack over, do dinner and stuff. Like a proper send off and a welcome all in one.”

Derek smiled back, warmth spreading through him.

“That sounds like a good idea,” he agreed. “A way to remind us all that we’re still here. Together. Just… in different places.”

Stiles nodded, eyes shining with quiet determination.

“Yeah. Different places, but still pack.”

And in that moment, the looming change felt a little less scary - because no matter where they lived, the pack, the family, and the bond they shared would never truly fade away.

The next day, Stiles sat on the edge of his bed, phone pressed to his ear, the sound of his own heartbeat loud in his ears. He’d just finished telling Peter about the upcoming “going away, welcome home” party for Derek and Eli - how they planned to have the pack over, share food, and mark the transition with something more like a celebration than a goodbye.

Peter’s voice came through steady and surprisingly warm. “I’ll be there,” he promised.

Just as Peter was about to hang up, Stiles’ hand froze mid motion. Something impulsive, honest, and vulnerable pushed past the usual guardedness.

“Hey, so... you like dudes, right?” Stiles blurted out, voice a little unsteady.

There was a pause, then Peter’s low chuckle. “I don’t particularly like anyone,” he replied, with a hint of amusement.

“No, I mean... you’re gay, right? How did you know you were gay?” Stiles asked, voice softer now, like he was confessing a secret he’d barely admitted to himself.

Peter’s laugh was quiet but genuine. “I mean... the thought of putting my mouth on another’s dude junk and not being grossed out was the first clue.”

Stiles flushed, muffling a groan. “That was way more graphic than it needed to be.”

Peter’s tone shifted, curious and a little teasing. “Are you saying you think you’re gay?”

Stiles hesitated, the weight of the question pressing against his ribs. Finally, he admitted, almost whispering, “I’m saying I think I’m in love with a man and I don’t know what that makes me.”

The line went silent for a long moment, the kind of silence that stretches and holds everything between two people who understand more than they say.

Then Peter spoke, steady and gentle. “It sounds like it makes you happy. Which, ironically, is another term for gay.”

Stiles snorted softly, a brief release of tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying.

“You don’t have to label it if you don’t know,” Peter added thoughtfully. “Hell, you don’t have to label it if you do know. You just have to be honest with yourself.”

Stiles felt warmth flood through him - the unexpected comfort of acceptance, the relief of no longer carrying the question alone. For once, the confusing mess inside his chest was a little clearer.

He smiled, a genuine, quiet smile, and whispered, “Thanks, Peter.”

Chapter Text

Stiles went all out for the party.

Even though it was just going to be a small group - the pack - Stiles treated it like he was throwing a gala at the Waldorf Astoria. He said it was a welcome home party, but everyone knew it was also his way of holding on just a little longer before everything changed.

He ordered the biggest cake he could find from the best bakery in town - three tiers, chocolate and vanilla with fresh berries and cream cheese frosting. It said “Welcome Home Baby Hale!” in swirly blue letters across the top, and the baker had even added tiny edible wolf paw prints around the base when Stiles asked.

He went completely overboard with food. He placed orders at five different restaurants: Chinese from their favorite takeout place, barbecue from the smokehouse Boyd loved, sushi because Erica insisted, sandwiches and pasta from the diner Jackson pretended to hate but secretly loved, and enough tacos to feed an army. He handed the stack of receipts to Derek and told him he was picking everything up the day of the party because, and he quote, “You have the muscle and the air conditioned car.”

Derek just sighed and said, “Yes, Stiles.”

And of course, Stiles wasn’t done.

He took Eli with him to get decorations, carrying the four month old in a soft wrap against his chest as he wandered through the party supply store, narrating every color and shape they passed.

“What do you think, kiddo?” he asked Eli, holding up two giant balloons - one shaped like a wolf, the other like a cartoon baby bottle. “Classic or cursed?”

Eli cooed and blinked at the bottle.

“Cursed it is.”

By the end of the trip, the cart was full. streamers in various shades of blue and silver, “Welcome Home!” banners, fairy lights, and tiny wolf themed tableware. People in the store smiled fondly as Stiles explained every purchase to Eli like the baby had veto power. Maybe he did.

Stiles didn’t stop moving all day, pouring all of his feelings into the planning. It was his way of staying close to Eli. Of showing Derek how much this life, this little family they’d built, meant to him.

Even if no one said it out loud, the pack would know.

This wasn’t just a party.

It was Stiles giving everything he had to say goodbye without letting go.

The night before the move, the basement was dim and quiet, bathed in the warm amber glow of the bedside lamp. It felt like the room itself was holding its breath.

Stiles lay on his side in Derek’s bed, one arm curled protectively around Eli, who was tucked against his chest, sleeping peacefully. His tiny fingers had curled in the fabric of Stiles’ t shirt, his soft baby breaths puffing gently against Stiles’ collarbone.

Derek was seated on the other side of the bed, back propped against the headboard, a book open in his lap. But he hadn’t turned a page in ten minutes, he’d been too focused on the silence. Not the comforting kind they’d grown used to over the past four months, but a heavy, hesitant quiet. The kind that ached.

He glanced over at Stiles, who hadn’t said more than a few words all evening. His eyes were open, but unfocused, gaze trained somewhere near Eli’s hair.

“Hey,” Derek said softly, keeping his voice low so he didn’t wake the baby. “You okay?”

Stiles didn’t look at him. He just exhaled slowly and said, voice tight with something that clearly took effort to suppress, “Can you maybe… not ask me that? I don’t want to have to lie to you.”

Derek swallowed thickly.

He looked down at Eli for a moment - his son, small and safe, cradled in Stiles’ arms like he belonged there - and reached out to ruffle the soft dark hair on the baby’s head, brushing his thumb gently along Eli’s crown.

Then he hesitated. For a second, he wasn’t sure if he should. But the moment stretched and something in him moved anyway.

He reached over and ruffled Stiles’ hair too, fingers brushing lightly through the familiar messy strands, like it might tether something between them just a little longer.

Stiles didn’t flinch away. He closed his eyes at the touch, jaw clenched, tears barely held at bay.

Derek let his hand fall back to his lap, and the silence returned, but this time it wasn’t empty.

It was shared. Heavy, but understood.

Because there were no words for goodbyes when it wasn’t really goodbye.

Just the end of one version of home.

And, hopefully, the beginning of another.

Stiles woke up early that morning, the same way he had nearly every morning for the past four months, before the alarm, before the baby stirred. But unlike every other day, he didn’t linger under the covers or sneak an extra five minutes watching Eli sleep. Today was moving day.

He was bright and chipper the moment he walked into the kitchen, rattling off the day’s schedule to Noah, who was sipping coffee and watching him with a raised brow. Stiles grinned too wide and talked too fast, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

But underneath the high energy, there was a weight to him. A brittle edge. His voice was an octave too light, his laugh a little hollow. He cracked jokes and made snide comments like always, but his eyes didn’t shine the same way.

Noah saw it. Derek saw it. Even Eli, cranky from being woken up early and tucked into a fleece onesie, sensed it, he wouldn’t stop staring up at Stiles with wide, blinking eyes. But no one called him out. Not yet. Not when he was clearly holding it together with coffee and stubbornness.

They loaded up Derek’s new SUV, sleek, black, baby safe, and already cluttered with diapers and wipes and backup bottles. Stiles made sure every last one of Eli’s things was accounted for: the clothes, the toys, the bottles, the books. Every small item that had once quietly lived in the basement now sat neatly in labeled boxes.

The ride to the loft was quiet. Stiles sat in the back with Eli, gently holding his hand the entire way.

When they got to the building, Derek killed the engine and looked back at them. “I’m gonna go pick up the food and the cake,” he said softly. “You two okay here for a bit?”

“Of course,” Stiles said brightly, unbuckling Eli and hoisting him up with a practiced ease. “Go forth and collect carbohydrates.”

Derek gave him a look - half affection, half concern - but didn’t press. He just nodded once and drove off.

Stiles let them into the loft and immediately got to work. He set Eli down in his bouncer with some toys and pulled the decorations from a bag, moving through the space like a man on a mission.

Halfway through untangling a mess of streamers, the door opened behind him.

Isaac and Jackson walked in, arms loaded with soda and plastic cups. Isaac offered a soft smile, while Jackson immediately looked around with an unimpressed expression.

“Well,” Jackson said, scanning the loft, “at least it doesn’t look like a crime scene anymore.”

Stiles didn’t even turn around. He let the streamer drop from his hand and said, voice dry and exhausted, “Jackson, can you just… take a break from being an asshole for one day? Like, just twenty four hours. You can pick it back up tomorrow if you want.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Jackson, to his surprise actually looked sheepish. “Right. Sorry.”

Stiles let out a breath and turned to look at him, eyes tired. “Thanks.”

Jackson shifted uncomfortably, then nodded toward the box of decorations. “What do you need help with?”

Stiles blinked, and for a moment, something in him settled. He handed Jackson a bag of balloons and gave Isaac a smile that was still small, but real.

“Let’s make this place look like home,” he said.

Erica and Boyd showed up a little after Jackson and Isaac, carrying a box of mismatched paper lanterns and a store bought bouquet of wildflowers Erica insisted “would make the loft look less like a warehouse and more like a home.” Boyd headed straight to Eli, crouching next to the bouncer and gently booping the baby’s nose, grinning when Eli squealed with delight.

Erica handed Stiles a bundle of fairy lights and immediately began directing where they should go. “We’re not doing harsh lighting tonight,” she declared, already looping the strands over the exposed beams. “We’re going for ambiance.”

Stiles, still tired around the edges but brightened by the reinforcements, gave her a fond smirk and nodded. “Fairy light it is, boss.”

Noah arrived a bit after that, in his uniform still but carrying a six pack of beer for himself and a tub of potato salad that clearly came from the grocery store deli. He kissed the top of Stiles’ head as he passed and ruffled Eli’s little curls, settling in like it was the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t say much, just started helping hang decorations, observing the warmth in the room with quiet approval.

And then Peter arrived.

He knocked, which earned him an eye roll from Erica - “You’re family, not a guest” - and stepped inside, taking in the scene with raised eyebrows and that calculating look he always wore. But even he didn’t have anything snarky to say. He gave Stiles a small nod, said hello to Eli, and started rearranging the tables Stiles had haphazardly set up for the food.

By the time Derek returned, arms full of takeout bags and his trunk still loaded with more, the loft was transformed.

Soft music played from Stiles’ phone, something mellow and familiar, drifting through the open space. The fairy lights cast a golden glow across the exposed brick walls, dancing across the hardwood floors like warm constellations. Streamers fluttered gently from the ceiling beams, and the dining table was almost ready - cups, mismatched plates, and a massive cake that was currently being guarded by Isaac, who claimed “quality control.”

But what hit Derek the hardest, what made his breath catch and his steps slow just inside the doorway, was the sight of Stiles in the kitchen - barefoot, smiling, and dancing slowly to the music with Eli in his arms.

The baby was giggling, head thrown back in delight, one tiny fist clinging to the collar of Stiles’ shirt as Stiles twirled them both lazily in place, lips moving along with the lyrics. His other hand supported Eli’s back, protective and instinctive.

The scene was soft, domestic, and painfully beautiful.

It looked like a dream Derek hadn’t let himself want for too long. His heart clenched tight in his chest, because in that moment, with the pack moving like pieces of a familiar puzzle, with his son safe and adored, and with Stiles in the heart of it all, the loft didn’t just feel like his home.

It felt like theirs.

Derek swallowed hard, shoulders tight with emotion, and called softly, “I’ve got food. Someone come help me before the sushi ends up on the sidewalk.”

A few members of the pack shouted in response, teasing and laughing as they ran to meet him. But Stiles looked up, caught Derek’s eye from across the loft, and gave him a smile so achingly full of love that Derek forgot how to breathe for a second.

Eli chirped excitedly in his arms and reached toward the sound of Derek’s voice, and suddenly, just for a moment, everything was exactly as it should be.

Stiles shifted Eli in his arms and pressed a kiss to the baby’s temple before walking toward Derek, still swaying a little to the music. “You’re late,” he said lightly, though his eyes were soft, his smile a little too bright.

“I brought a small feast,” Derek replied, nodding toward the car. “And I had to stop at two places twice because someone forgot to confirm the order at the taco truck.”

“Semantics,” Stiles said, handing Eli off to Peter as he brushed past. “Come on, Alpha. Let’s get the rest of the food before your precious sushi disappears.”

Derek didn’t respond right away. He stood for just a second longer, watching Stiles walk away - barefoot, half tucked t shirt, laughing at something Erica yelled across the room - and something in his chest cracked a little more.

He followed Stiles out to the car, and together they unloaded enough food for a group twice their size. He had clearly overdone it on purpose, and Derek didn’t say anything, just helped him carry it all inside.

Back in the loft, things turned louder and warmer.

Boyd was helping Isaac set up a drinks table. Noah was somehow already in charge of organizing plates and cutlery, quietly managing Jackson and Erica’s bickering as they tried to string up another line of fairy lights. Peter had Eli on his hip and was teaching him the names of different foods, though Derek was pretty sure Eli was just babbling in response and Peter was pretending it was coherent conversation.

Stiles worked quietly at Derek’s side, organizing the food. Every so often, he would bump his shoulder into Derek’s or hold up a takeout box dramatically and ask, “Do you think this looks chicken-y enough?” before grinning and moving on.

It wasn’t until everything was set and people started making plates that Derek finally pulled Stiles aside, steering him gently into the kitchen away from the chaos for a breath of quiet.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and steady.

Stiles didn’t answer immediately. He looked around the loft - the people he loved, the baby he’d helped raise - and then back at Derek with eyes that shimmered a little in the warm light.

“No,” he admitted with a lopsided smile. “But this? This helps.”

Derek nodded and hesitated, then reached out and hooked a finger into one of Stiles’ belt loops, tugging him just slightly closer. “You did all this.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “Well. I didn’t want you to think moving meant losing something.”

Derek looked at him for a long moment. “I don’t,” he said finally. “I think it means… making space for more.”

Stiles blinked hard at that, his smile wobbling, but before he could respond, Eli shrieked with laughter in the other room - Isaac had apparently given him a sip of whipped cream - and Stiles huffed a laugh through his nose.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Stiles muttered fondly, already heading back into the fray.

Derek followed a few steps behind, watching as Stiles grabbed Eli back from Peter, mock scolding Isaac while the baby squealed with joy and smacked his hands together. The rest of the pack had gathered around the food, chatting and laughing and moving with the kind of ease that came from years of shared history.

And for one perfect night, the loft felt full.

Full of light.

Full of laughter.

Full of family.

Full of home.
~~~~

The party had that soft sort of chaos only found when too many people who love each other are crammed into one space with too much food and too many opinions. The loft glowed under the string lights and the music still filtered quietly from Stiles’ phone, playing somewhere between background noise and comfort.

Everyone moved freely, grabbing food, teasing one another, playing with Eli, but there was a rhythm to it. A subtle orbit that always pulled around three gravitational points: Derek, Stiles, and the baby usually in Stiles’ arms.

Stiles never strayed far from Eli. He held him while he chatted with Noah. He bounced him on his hip while helping Erica rearrange the cupcakes she insisted were ugly but had clearly spent hours frosting. If someone else took Eli - Peter or Boyd or Isaac - it wasn’t for long before Stiles was gently reaching for him again, pulling him close like the weight kept him grounded.

Boyd noticed. Boyd always noticed. And without a word, he hovered.

He didn’t crowd. He wasn’t obvious. But any time Stiles looked overwhelmed - when too many people talked at once, when the music got too loud, when Jackson’s sarcasm edged too sharp - Boyd was simply there. A quiet presence at his shoulder, handing him a drink or giving him space or cutting off Jackson midsentence with a look that said, Try again.

Stiles appreciated it more than he said. He met Boyd’s eyes once after Jackson made a half baked comment about Derek’s decorating choices, and Boyd just arched a brow until Jackson shut up. Stiles smiled, small and tired and grateful.

And Derek… Derek was impossible not to watch. Even when he wasn’t doing anything special.

Every time Stiles glanced up, Derek was somewhere in his line of sight. Talking to Noah about some repair the loft still needed. Handing out drinks. Taking Eli from Stiles just long enough to give his arms a break. There was no dramatic declaration, no over the top gesture, but the entire night felt quietly charged.

Because Stiles was glued to Derek, and Derek kept letting him.

As the night finally began to settle, plates were cleared, leftovers packed, and the music faded into the comfortable lull of people too full to move. Eli had long since conked out on Derek’s chest, his tiny hand fisted on top Derek’s shirt, and Peter was dozing in a chair with a whiskey glass dangling lazily from his fingers.

Erica, curled up on the couch beside Isaac, looked over at Derek and asked, “Can we stay tonight? Just crash here? Like a final sleepover at Casa Hale 2.0?”

Derek blinked at her, then glanced around the loft. The idea wasn’t terrible, but… his shoulders tensed slightly as he looked down at Eli sleeping in his arms.

“Not tonight,” he said gently. “It’s our first night here. My wolf needs calm, for both of us.”

Erica groaned dramatically, flopping over into Isaac’s lap, but Boyd nodded in understanding, and even Jackson didn’t argue. One by one, the pack gathered their things, hugged Stiles, kissed Eli’s forehead, and filtered out into the night.

And then…Stiles started putting on his shoes.

Derek turned to him, confused. “Where are you going?”

Stiles looked up, equally confused. “Home. Obviously.”

Derek frowned. “Why?”

Stiles gave him a sheepish look, brushing his hands down the front of his shirt. “Because you said you wanted to be alone. For your wolf or whatever.”

“You’re not included in that,” Derek said simply. “You’re never included in that.”

Stiles froze, one shoe still untied. His breath hitched just slightly, eyes flickering up to Derek like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “…I’m not?”

Derek’s voice stayed steady, quiet but sure. “You’re not,” he said again, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Something in Stiles’ face cracked, just a hair - relief, affection, something warmer than either. He sat back on his heels, letting his hands rest in his lap.

“Oh,” he said, blinking down at his untied shoe. “Okay. Cool. I’ll, uh… I’ll stay, then.”

Derek just nodded, already carrying Eli to the small bedroom off the main loft space, but not before sparing Stiles one more look. The kind that lingered. The kind that meant more than either of them was ready to admit yet.

And Stiles? Stiles toed off his shoes completely and padded quietly after him.

The bedroom was dim and quiet when they stepped inside, moonlight slipping through the wide windows and pooling soft on the floor. Derek shifted Eli gently in his arms, careful not to wake him, though the baby was deeply asleep, his mouth open, breath slow, one fist still curled in the collar of Derek’s shirt like even in sleep, he knew who was holding him.

Stiles hovered just inside the doorway, watching as Derek laid Eli in the crib and brushed a hand through the kid’s hair. Derek moved with such ease, such quiet tenderness, it made something twist deep in Stiles’ chest. Not a sharp twist. just… an ache. The kind that comes from wanting something and not quite knowing if it’s yours to have.

Once Eli was settled, Derek straightened and glanced back at him. “He’ll sleep through the night,” he murmured, almost more to himself than to Stiles. “New place hasn’t even phased him.”

“Well, yeah,” Stiles said, voice softer than usual. “He’s got you.”

Derek’s eyes flicked toward him at that, unreadable in the dark, but warm in a way that made Stiles’ stomach flutter.

They padded quietly back to the kitchen, the rest of the loft still and humming with the distant memory of the party. The air smelled like sugar and pine, like frosting and baby shampoo, like home. Derek moved toward the fridge, opening it just long enough to check how much food was left, before closing it again and leaning against the counter.

“I’ve got a couple spare rooms,” he said. “You can take whichever one you want.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, too quickly.

Derek narrowed his eyes. “You alright?”

“Yep,” Stiles said, popping the ‘p’ as he moved to pick at the edge of a cupcake container, not meeting Derek’s gaze. “Just tired.”

“Stiles.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Stiles said, voice too bright, too sharp, and then added, quieter, “Really.”

Derek didn’t push. But his gaze lingered. Focused. Concerned in that quiet, earnest way he always was when it came to the people he cared about, even if he didn’t always know how to show it.

They stood there for a while, surrounded by the comfortable mess of half cleaned dishes and the ghost of laughter that still hung in the rafters. Stiles relaxed a little, letting himself lean against the counter beside Derek. They talked about nothing - Isaac’s weird snack choices, Jackson’s over the top party opinions, how Boyd kept giving Eli ridiculously philosophical baby toys. It felt easy, familiar, like slipping into an old hoodie that still smelled like safety.

Eventually, though, Stiles straightened and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I should get to bed,” he said, voice a little rough from yawning. “Which room’s closer to Eli’s?”

“Next door,” Derek said.

Stiles nodded, already walking toward the hallway. When he reached the doorway, he hesitated just long enough to turn back. His gaze met Derek’s and something flickered there, something uncertain, something yearning, but all he said was, “Goodnight, Derek.”

Derek gave a small nod, voice quiet. “Goodnight, Stiles.”

The door clicked shut behind him. And Derek stood alone in the soft hum of the kitchen, trying to ignore the hollow ache in his chest that wanted to follow Stiles down the hallway.
~~~~

The loft was nearly silent.

The kind of silence that settles into the bones of a new home, peaceful, but still unfamiliar. The windows were cracked to let in the summer night air, and somewhere down the block, a dog barked once, then stopped. The city had gone still.

But Derek wasn’t asleep.

He lay in bed on his back, eyes on the ceiling, heartbeat steady - except for the part of it tuned entirely to Stiles.

He could feel it, that low, subtle rhythm from across the loft. He’d checked the first half hour, convincing himself maybe it was just nerves. A new place. New smells. New sounds.

But even after two hours, Stiles’ heartbeat hadn't settled into the slow cadence of sleep. It stayed too quick, too light - tense in a way that felt like discomfort wrapped in silence.

Derek had debated a dozen times whether to get up, knock gently on the door and ask if something was wrong. He’d made it to the edge of the bed once, only to sit back down with a low sigh, dragging a hand over his face.

He didn’t want to smother Stiles. Didn’t want to read into things that weren’t there.

So he waited.

Until the click of the spare room door opening cracked through the quiet like a spark.

Derek was out of bed in an instant.

Bare feet silent on the hardwood, he met Stiles halfway in the hallway, where moonlight sliced between them from the loft’s tall windows. Stiles looked sheepish, arms crossed over his chest like he was regretting something he hadn’t even said yet.

“Everything okay?” Derek asked, voice quiet, rough with disuse.

Stiles nodded, too quickly. “Yeah, I just…” He glanced past Derek toward the open space beyond the hall. “I can’t sleep.”

Derek said nothing at first. Just stood there in the hush between them, watching the tension in Stiles’ shoulders, the slight twitch in his fingers, the way his breath wavered but never quite settled.

Stiles cleared his throat and then looked up at him, eyes shadowed but honest.

“Can I…” he hesitated. “Is it okay if I sleep in your bed?”

Derek’s chest tugged tight. Not painfully. Just enough to make him feel it all the way to the center of his ribs.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just gave a soft, understanding smile and nodded once, then turned and motioned for Stiles to follow.

No questions. No pressure.

Just the quiet rhythm of two hearts trying to find peace in the same place.

Stiles padded silently behind Derek, feet brushing the floor with almost no sound at all. He didn’t look up much, kept his gaze low like he was afraid of what Derek might see in his face. Derek didn’t look back either, not because he didn’t want to, he did, but because he knew if he did, if he caught that look in Stiles’ eyes, that careful vulnerability, something inside him might break wide open.

The bedroom was dim, lit only by the ambient glow from the city and the sliver of light that spilled down the hall. Derek didn’t turn anything on. Just slipped back into his bed and pulled the blanket down on the other side without a word.

Stiles hesitated at the edge.

He stood there for a second, clutching the hem of his sleep shirt like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed this. If this was okay. If this crossed some invisible line they hadn’t acknowledged yet.

Then Derek looked at him, really looked. Not just with his eyes but with everything he was, soft and steady and safe - and something in Stiles seemed to unclench. He climbed in, slow and careful, and lay on his side facing away, close but not touching.

Derek lay back, mirrored him. The space between them felt like something tangible, warm and electric and delicate.

“Thank you,” Stiles said quietly, almost a whisper.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Derek replied, just as soft.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The night resumed its gentle hum around them, and Derek could feel Stiles' heartbeat - still a little fast, still too light - but steadier than before. He let himself relax, just a little, head turning slightly on the pillow as he watched the rise and fall of Stiles’ back.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Derek murmured into the dark.

Stiles’ shoulders tensed, just a fraction.

“I’m not,” he said. Then, after a beat, “Not right now.”

Derek nodded, not expecting more. That was enough.

They lay there in the quiet, breathing the same air, the inches between them slowly shrinking with each passing minute. And when Stiles shifted back just the slightest bit, enough that his shoulder brushed Derek’s chest, Derek didn’t move away.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t ask questions. He just let the contact stay, soft and grounding.

Eventually, Stiles’ heart slowed. Not all the way, but enough.

And Derek finally let his eyes close, the weight of the night settling just a little easier now that they were both where they belonged.
~~~~

The first hints of dawn crept in through the loft’s tall windows, casting a gentle amber hue over the room. The silence was soft, sleepy, until a quiet, muffled cry echoed down the hall.

Eli.

Derek blinked awake, already halfway out of the covers when he felt movement beside him.

Stiles was up instantly, throwing back the blanket and scrambling to his feet before Derek could even sit up.

“I’ve got him,” Stiles said, breathless, like he’d been waiting for a moment just like this. “I’ve got him, it’s okay.”

He didn’t wait for Derek to respond, just padded quickly down the hallway, socked feet silent on the floor, heart beating fast. Derek stood, slower, watching the doorway for a second before following.

He found Stiles already in the nursery, bent over the crib, his voice a soft murmur that was equal parts comfort and worship.

“Hey, buddy. Hi, my little monster. You’re okay, I’m here, we’re okay, shhh…”

Eli’s cries quieted almost instantly, soothed by Stiles’ voice and the familiar rhythm of his presence. Derek leaned against the doorframe and just… watched.

Watched as Stiles scooped the baby into his arms with an ease born of months of care. Watched the way Stiles rocked slightly side to side, humming something tuneless, pressing a kiss to the top of Eli’s soft curls. His eyes were rimmed with sleep, hair sticking up in wild directions, but he looked like nothing had ever made more sense to him than this.

Then, suddenly, Stiles’ jaw clenched. His shoulders tensed.

“Please,” he said, voice rough and sudden. He didn’t look at Derek, couldn’t. “Please just let me do the routine. One more time. Let me… just pretend this is still normal, that this is still - just for today.”

Derek opened his mouth, closed it. He felt something lodge in his throat. He didn’t know how to say what he wanted to say - how to say You can come do this every morning if you want, or You’re part of this, or You never have to stop - because the words felt too heavy for the space they were standing in. Too fragile, too real.

So instead, he nodded. Quiet. Gentle.

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”

Stiles finally turned, clutching Eli close like he was anchoring himself to the moment. His expression flickered, and for a second, Derek thought he might cry. But he didn’t. He just gave a sharp little nod, like he was locking the emotion down for later.

And then he moved around the room like clockwork, muscle memory in motion.

He changed Eli’s diaper, humming low under his breath, keeping up a soft stream of words for the baby’s benefit. He picked out the soft yellow onesie with the little wolf print on the feet, Eli’s favorite, and wrestled him into it with exaggerated, silly commentary that made the baby giggle.

Derek stayed in the doorway, silent.

When Stiles finally turned toward him again, holding Eli against his shoulder, he looked… lighter. Not okay, not really, but less on the edge.

“Bottles to the right of the fridge still?” Stiles asked quietly.

Derek nodded again. “Yeah.”

Stiles moved past him without needing directions, already halfway to the kitchen.

And Derek, trailing behind, realized two things.

One: Stiles wasn’t just helping with Eli. Stiles loved him. Fully, deeply, achingly.

And two: he was going to have to figure out how to say the thing that was burning in his chest before it was too late.

Stiles moved through the loft like he’d been there a hundred times before, not like someone who had only just spent their first night within its walls. His steps were quiet, confident in that specific way someone becomes when they’ve memorized the steps to a dance, when their body knows what to do even if their brain is still catching up.

He obviously didn’t need to ask where the kitchen was. He just walked there, humming softly to Eli, one arm cradling the baby against his chest. Eli’s fingers curled in the fabric of Stiles’ shirt, chubby cheek pressed into his shoulder, the world safe and warm and familiar.

He turned toward the counter and began preparing the bottle one handed like it was nothing. The formula scooped and poured with practiced ease, the bottle capped and shaken with a few deft flicks of the wrist. All the while, his voice murmured low and warm against Eli’s ear.

“You’re getting so big, you know that? You used to be this tiny little squish who couldn’t even hold his own head up, and now look at you. Chunky and strong and probably gonna walk sooner than we want - your dad’s doomed, buddy, he really is. You’re gonna run him ragged.”

Eli gave a happy little squeal, and Stiles laughed softly. But then the laughter faded.

Just like that, the words stopped.

Derek had been leaning against the far wall, just watching - quiet, content - but the shift in energy was immediate. A stillness took hold of Stiles’ frame, subtle but unmistakable. His shoulders drew in just a little, his head tilted lower, and his hand froze on the bottle.

Derek inhaled and caught it. Salt. Faint, but present. The sharp tang of tears not yet shed, hovering in the air.

He moved without thought.

In two strides, he was behind Stiles, pressing up gently against his back, careful not to crowd him, careful not to startle. He lowered his head and rested his chin on Stiles’ shoulder, the stubble on his jaw brushing against the cotton of Stiles’ shirt.

Eli cooed, reaching for Derek’s nose, completely oblivious.

Derek smiled at his son. Then, voice soft and low in the hush of the morning light, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t press. Didn’t demand. Just let the question hang there, safe and open and quiet.

Stiles didn’t answer at first. His throat worked around the lump there, his eyes fixed on the bottle in his hand like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. One of his tears slipped free and soaked silently into the shoulder of Eli’s onesie.

“I’m gonna miss him,” Stiles whispered eventually. “God, I’m gonna miss this.”

His voice cracked like thin ice underfoot. “I know he’s not mine. I know. But it’s been months, Der. I wake up with him. I feed him. I know what every little sound means. I… I was there when he rolled over for the first time, when he laughed for real. And I don’t - I don’t know what I’m supposed to do when that just ends.”

Derek closed his eyes, breathing him in. The grief in Stiles’ voice was raw, not loud or dramatic - just a deep, aching thing that curled around every word.

He still didn’t know how to say everything he wanted to. So he just stayed there, close and warm, anchoring Stiles with the quiet truth of his presence.

And he hoped that Stiles could feel it: that he wasn’t going to lose Eli.

That maybe, he didn’t have to lose anything at all.

Stiles didn’t say anything else after that - not right away. He just stood there, holding Eli close, his grip a little tighter than before, like if he held on hard enough, long enough, it might stop time.

Derek didn’t move either. His chin stayed on Stiles’ shoulder, his arms coming up slowly, one settling gently across Stiles’ waist, the other curling around to help support Eli’s wiggly little body. They stood like that for a long time, wrapped around the baby and each other, warm and quiet in the pale morning light filtering through the windows.

Eli made a soft sound and shoved his fist into his mouth, drawing their attention back.

Stiles gave a shaky laugh, brushing his thumb along the baby’s cheek. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he whispered hoarsely. “You absolute monster.”

Derek finally spoke, voice low in Stiles’ ear. “You know you don’t have to stop.”

Stiles turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at him. “What?”

“This,” Derek said simply, nodding toward Eli. “You feeding him. Being here. Helping. It doesn’t have to end.”

Stiles’ brow pulled together, disbelieving and soft all at once. “You don’t… You don’t have to say that just because I’m-”

“I’m not,” Derek said, quiet but firm. “I mean it. You’re not just some babysitter. You’re-” He faltered for half a breath. “You’re his person too, Stiles. You’ve been there since day one. He knows your voice. He calms down when you walk into the room.”

Stiles blinked rapidly, looking away.

“I see it,” Derek said, pressing on. “The way he lights up when you hold him. The way you talk to him like he’s the most important thing in the world. You love him.”

“Of course I love him,” Stiles whispered.

“Then don’t stop.”

Stiles finally turned fully, one hand still holding Eli, the other brushing lightly along Derek’s ribs, like he needed to anchor himself to something before he could speak. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Derek said, slowly and honestly, “you can keep doing this. Coming here. Feeding him in the morning. Falling asleep in my bed. You don’t have to lose any of it. I don’t want you to.”

Eli yawned, big and dramatic, smacking his lips and blinking up at them.

Stiles looked at him, then back at Derek, something tender and terrified in his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Derek said, so quietly it was almost a breath. “I’m sure.”

Stiles exhaled a laugh that was half sob, half relief, and leaned forward to press his forehead into Derek’s chest.

Derek held him tighter.

Neither of them said it yet - what they were building toward. But in the soft hush of the morning, in their arms - baby they both loved- it didn’t need to be said just yet.

It was already happening.
~~~~

Stiles was perched on the couch, Eli cradled lazily in his arms, half asleep again after his morning bottle. Derek was quietly folding the baby’s tiny clothes in the armchair nearby, watching them like he didn’t quite know how to look away.

“Hey,” Stiles said suddenly, eyes on Eli’s soft lashes. “I was thinking… I’m gonna take this one with me today.”

Derek glanced up. “Take him where?”

“School supply shopping,” Stiles said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “He’s my shopping buddy. And I’ve been procrastinating like a champ, but classes start in two days and if I don’t get my notebooks and color coded dividers today, I’ll end up writing notes on napkins and falling into academic ruin. So.” He kissed the top of Eli’s fuzzy head. “This guy’s coming with.”

Derek blinked, surprised. “You’re taking him out… to shop?”

“Yeah, why not?” Stiles grinned. “I’ve taken him to Target, like, a hundred. He loves fluorescent lighting and loud carts. It’s his natural habitat.”

Derek chuckled softly, but his brows furrowed. “I’ll come too.”

Stiles looked up. “You sure? You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Derek said. “You’re not the only one who wants to spend time with him. And… with you.”

Stiles blinked, stunned for a second too long, before nodding quickly. “Yeah. Okay. Cool. Family field trip.”

The drive to the store was… oddly domestic. Eli was buckled into his car seat, babbling at the toys clipped to the strap while Stiles played DJ from the passenger seat. Derek grumbled at most of his music choices but didn’t turn any of them off. He just let Stiles sing along to early 2000s pop like it wasn’t slowly unspooling something tight in his chest.

At the store, Eli sat proudly in the front of the cart while Stiles steered it through aisles of pens, highlighters, and folders with snarky sayings on them.

“Okay, what do we think, bud?” Stiles asked, holding up two planners. “This one’s got weekly breakdowns and a section for goals, which, let’s be honest, is extremely optimistic for me. But this one has dinosaurs.”

Eli kicked his feet and smacked his hands on the handlebar like he was voting emphatically for dinosaurs.

“Thought so,” Stiles said, tossing it into the cart with a wink. “You’ve got good taste.”

Derek trailed behind them with a quiet smile, a pack of wipes and a tiny hat he found in the baby section tucked under one arm. He kept his distance at first, giving Stiles the space to do his thing, but he couldn’t help drifting closer when Stiles reached the pens and launched into a passionate speech about ink flow and nib size.

“You’re really picky about stationery,” Derek said, nudging Stiles’ elbow with a smirk.

“It’s an art,” Stiles replied dramatically. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand more than you think,” Derek said, eyes warm.

Stiles turned pink and busied himself comparing brands. Derek pretended not to notice.

They moved on to snacks, because Stiles claimed he studied better with trail mix and gummy worms, and then to the baby aisle when Derek remembered they were almost out of formula.

At one point, Stiles pulled the cart to a stop and crouched down in front of Eli. “Okay, big guy. What do you think about these onesies? This one has moons on it. Pretty cute, right? Or do we lean in and go for Daddy's Best Friend?”

Eli, for his part, tugged a plush wolf toy from the shelf and promptly drooled all over it.

“I guess that’s a yes,” Derek said, lips twitching.

Stiles looked up at him and smiled, soft and fond in a way that made Derek’s heartbeat stutter.

By the time they reached the checkout, their cart was full of folders, notebooks, formula, wipes, a ridiculous assortment of snacks, and one very content baby chewing on a binkie.

Stiles lifted him out and held him close while Derek loaded the bags into the car.

“You know,” Stiles murmured, watching Derek from the corner of his eye, “this might’ve been my favorite school supply run ever.”

Derek looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, kissing Eli’s cheek. “Can’t imagine better company.”

Chapter Text

The day before school started was thick with the kind of stillness that only comes when something big is about to shift. The air was golden and heavy with late summer warmth, and the loft windows were open, letting in the slow hum of cicadas and the occasional car passing below. It should’ve felt like the end of something, and maybe a part of it did. But mostly - it just felt like now.

Stiles sat on the rug in front of the couch, legs sprawled out, a burp cloth slung over his shoulder, and Eli tucked against his chest, sound asleep after a bottle. The baby’s soft weight was comforting, his tiny hand curled against the side of Stiles’ neck like he was anchoring them both there.

Stiles didn’t talk about school.

He didn’t say how everything would be different tomorrow. That the quiet mornings spent lazily helping Derek feed Eli or the sleepy afternoons watching TV with the baby balanced on his chest would start to become rare. He didn’t say that there’d be long days away, homework and deadlines, missed nap times and fewer diapers changed by his hands.

He didn’t say any of it because it didn’t matter. It was coming either way.

But this,right now - Eli snoring into his collarbone, the sun casting warm stripes across the floor, and Derek grumbling in the background like he was singlehandedly assembling a NASA grade machine instead of a moderately priced rocking chair - this was real.

The box had arrived that morning. One offhanded comment over coffee yesterday - “You know what would look great over there? A rocking chair.” - and Derek had somehow already purchased, unboxed, and dragged the thing into the center of the loft by noon.

And now he was in full Alpha Dad Mode: sleeves rolled up, eyebrows furrowed, crouched on the floor with instructions spread out beside him and Allen wrenches discarded like shrapnel.

Stiles turned his head to watch him, careful not to jostle Eli. “You doing okay there, big guy?”

“I’ve built an entire crib from scratch,” Derek muttered, lining up the legs. “This shouldn’t be harder.”

“That crib didn’t rock,” Stiles offered helpfully. “Maybe the laws of physics change when you introduce movement.”

Derek shot him a flat look. “Don’t make me throw a wooden dowel at you.”

“I dare you. I have a baby as a shield.”

Eli shifted in his sleep at the sound of Stiles' voice, his nose scrunching before he settled again with a sigh that made Stiles' chest ache in the best way.

The breeze carried in the smell of cut grass and pavement, and somewhere a dog barked lazily. The world outside the loft spun forward, fast and unforgiving. But in here, time had slowed to something softer.

Derek eventually got the rocker upright, testing the motion with a cautious push before nodding, clearly satisfied. Then he walked over and wordlessly reached down for Eli. Stiles let him take the baby, watching as Derek settled into the new chair like it had always belonged there. Eli nestled against his chest with a happy grunt, and Derek began to rock, slow and steady, like he’d done it a thousand times.

Stiles climbed up onto the couch, curling one leg under him, chin resting on the back cushion so he could keep watching.

“You bought that fast,” he said after a while, voice quieter now.

Derek looked up, his hand smoothing over Eli’s back. “You said it would look good here.”

Stiles let that sit between them for a moment before he smiled. “It does.”

They didn’t talk about tomorrow. About alarm clocks or backpacks or the sudden reintroduction of structure. About how things would inevitably pull them apart for hours, days, at a time.

Because they were here now. With the new rocking chair, and the sleepy baby, and the low creak of wood moving gently across the floor.

And that was enough.

Dinner was quiet at first, but not in a tense way. More like the calm after a long, good day. The kind of tired that sank into your bones in a satisfying way.

Derek had made burgers - thick, juicy, seared just right - and homemade curly fries that still had bits of skin on them, crispy and seasoned exactly the way Stiles liked. He always joked that Derek’s curly fries could bring about world peace, and tonight was no exception. He moaned dramatically after the first bite and declared, “You should open a food truck. Call it Alpha Eats or something ridiculous and vaguely threatening.”

Derek just rolled his eyes, but his lips curved, barely, into a smile.

They ate at the kitchen island, Eli sleeping nearby in his little bassinet. The loft smelled like spiced meat and fried potatoes and something faintly citrusy from the cleaner Derek had used earlier. It was homey. Lived in. Safe.

Between mouthfuls of burger, Stiles talked - about how he hoped he wouldn’t have a pop quiz on the first day back but Harris is a dickhead afterall, about how the new art teacher was rumored to be a witch, and about how his dad had tried to iron his clothes this morning and ended up burning a hole in the shoulder of his favorite hoodie. Derek just listened, mostly quiet, letting Stiles fill the room with sound like he always did.

When they were finishing up, Stiles wiped his fingers on a napkin and leaned back in his chair with a soft sigh. “I think I’m gonna head home after this,” he said, almost like he didn’t want to. “I’ve got a few things I need to get done before tomorrow. Backpack chaos. Clothes picking. Panic showering. You know.”

Derek nodded slowly. His jaw flexed, but he didn’t speak right away.

“I’m tired enough I might actually sleep tonight,” Stiles added, trying for lightness. “Shockingly. Miraculously. World-endingly tired.”

Derek finally said, “Okay,” quiet and simple, but with a heaviness under it.

It was going to be weird.

Weird to not have Stiles sitting on the floor with Eli in his lap, babbling stories to the baby while Derek fixed lunch. Weird to not hear his laugh echoing in the loft or to glance over and see him asleep on the couch with one leg tossed dramatically over the armrest like how hit happened at the Stilinski house. Just - weird.

“You know you’re welcome here anytime, right?” Derek said suddenly, voice a little gruff. “Even if you just want to do your homework here. Or nap. Or just…be.”

Stiles looked at him for a long second, then smiled. And it was soft, real, the kind of smile that didn’t need words. “Thanks,” he said. “I… yeah. I know.”

After they cleaned up the kitchen - Derek washed, Stiles dried - Stiles padded over to the bassinet and leaned down. Eli was curled on his side, mouth parted, tiny fingers twitching in sleep like he was dreaming about something exciting. Maybe a mobile. Or food he watched his dad he that he wasn’t able to yet.

Stiles brushed a thumb gently over his soft little cheek. “Goodnight, jellybean,” he whispered. “You better behave for your dad tomorrow. No chaos without me, okay?”

He kissed the crown of Eli’s head and straightened up, exhaling quietly as he turned toward the door. He wasn’t expecting Derek to be standing there, waiting, a small something in his hand.

“Hey,” Derek said. His voice had a rough edge, like it was catching in his throat.

Stiles blinked. “Hey?”

Derek stepped forward, holding something between them. A keychain. Three charms hung from the silver ring.

A key, plain and practical, unmistakably the key to the loft.
A tiny baby bottle, the hard plastic milky and smooth looking.
And a small black wolf, carved out of obsidian or onyx or maybe something else entirely, gleaming in the low light.

Stiles stared at it, stunned for a beat. Then he took it, fingers brushing Derek’s in the handoff.

“What is this?” he asked softly, already knowing but needing to hear it.

“A key,” Derek said. “For whenever you want to come home.”

Home.

Not over.

Not visit.

Not drop by.

Home.

Stiles swallowed hard, heart thudding. The little bottle clinked gently against the wolf as he closed his hand around the keychain.

“Derek,” he said, barely a whisper. “I…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Derek murmured. “Just - don’t disappear. That’s all.”

Stiles looked up at him then, eyes wide and shining, mouth parted like he wanted to say a thousand things about how that would never happen and Derek has no chance in hell of getting rid of him and none of them were enough.

So instead, he just stepped forward and pulled Derek into a hug.

Tight. Real. Bone deep.

Derek held him just as fiercely, chin tucked over Stiles’ shoulder, their world narrowing for a second to the sound of Eli’s soft breathing and the quiet hum of late summer crickets outside.

They didn’t need to say goodbye as Stiles left for the night.
~~~~

The Stilinski house was quiet when Stiles got home, the warm glow of the porch light waiting for him like always. The moment he stepped inside, the familiar scent of coffee and aftershave wrapped around him like a blanket. His dad was in the living room, feet up, flipping through a case file even though he was supposed to be off duty. Typical.

“Hey, kid,” Noah said without looking up. “Dinner good?”

“Yeah,” Stiles replied as he dropped his backpack by the door and padded into the kitchen for a bottle of water. “Derek made burgers. And curly fries. From scratch.”

That made Noah pause and glance up. “Curly fries? Damn. He’s really trying to win you over.”

Stiles flushed as he took a long sip of water, avoiding his dad’s amused gaze. “They’re just fries, Dad.”

“Sure, sure,” Noah said, going back to his file, though his grin said he wasn’t buying it.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, Stiles curled sideways in the armchair across from the couch, legs thrown over the armrest, twirling the house key Derek gave him in his fingers. He hadn’t let go of it since he left the loft. The baby bottle charm kept catching against his knuckles, gentle and persistent.

After a few minutes, Noah cleared his throat. “So, tomorrow’s the big day. You got your forms for lacrosse?”

Stiles shrugged, eyes still on the keychain. “Not playing this year.”

That pulled Noah’s attention sharply. “Really? You’ve been on that team since freshman year.”

“Yeah, well,” Stiles said, stretching his arms over his head. “I was only on it because Scott asked me to be. He needed the backup. I’m not really into it. Never was.”

Noah frowned, setting his folder aside. “So, this isn’t about… the two of you not being close anymore?”

“I mean, we’re not. But that’s not why,” Stiles said, looking over at his dad. “I just… I want to focus this year. Do school right. Finish strong. Maybe figure out what I actually want to do, you know?”

His dad nodded slowly, taking that in. “Nothing wrong with that.”

They sat for a moment longer, the sound of the fridge humming softly in the kitchen, the crickets chirping through the open window.

Then, Noah said casually, “This have anything to do with a certain four month old I hear you humming lullabies to?”

Stiles smiled, not even bothering to act surprised by the question. “No. Well… not directly. I’d still make time for Eli either way. He’s kind of important.”

Noah’s smile softened. “You really love that kid.”

“I do,” Stiles said quietly. “He’s… he’s the best part of my day.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Noah leaned back with a sigh. “I’m proud of you, Stiles. You’ve grown up a hell of a lot this year.”

Stiles gave a small, bashful shrug. “Thanks, Dad.”

They didn’t say much more after that. Stiles stayed downstairs a little longer, eventually getting up to make tea while his dad dozed on the couch. He didn't know what the year ahead would bring - school, college apps, maybe (definitely) complicated feelings about Derek Hale - but at least, for now, he had a quiet night, a warm house, and the promise of tomorrow.
~~~~

The ceiling fan hummed above him, a slow, steady whirr that failed to soothe the restless energy trapped under Stiles’ skin. He’d flipped his pillow three times. Tried sleeping on his stomach, his side, his back. Kicked off the sheets. Pulled them back on. Counted backwards from a hundred - twice. Still, sleep refused to come.

His room felt too quiet, too still. The mattress under him too wide. The house, though obviously familiar, had lost its comfort somehow. Like he’d outgrown it in the last few weeks without realizing.

He huffed out a frustrated breath and rolled onto his side, glaring at the glowing red digits on his alarm clock: 2:17 AM.

The loft would be quiet too, sure, but not this kind of quiet. There, the soft rustle of baby blankets, the occasional creak of floorboards, and Derek’s slow, even breathing filled the space in a way that felt solid. Reassuring. Even Eli’s sleepy whines in the middle of the night had a rhythm to them Stiles missed.

His hand reached for his phone almost on autopilot. He hesitated for half a second, thumb hovering over Derek’s name in his favorites, before finally tapping out a quick message.

stiles: hey. are you up?

The response came barely thirty seconds later, lighting up the screen.

derek: yeah. everything okay?

stiles: i can’t sleep.
would you… would you be okay with talking?
just until i fall asleep?

Stiles had barely had time to lock his phone screen before his phone started buzzing in his hand.

Stiles fumbled it slightly, startled, then answered, voice already soft with exhaustion. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Derek said, his voice low and warm, the kind of rasp Stiles had already learned meant he’d been up for hours but hadn’t spoken aloud in a while. “You really can’t sleep?”

“Nope,” Stiles sighed, rolling onto his back again and tucking the phone between his cheek and pillow. “I tried everything. My brain just… won’t shut up.”

Derek didn’t tease him or tell him to try harder. Instead, his voice picked up a rhythm, steady and grounding.

“Eli bit me tonight,” Derek said, and Stiles could hear the amused exasperation in his tone. “He was chewing on that little fox toy, you know the one with the crinkly ears? I guess my hand got in the way. Four months old and already using those gums like a weapon.”

Stiles chuckled softly, eyes fluttering closed.

“He kept reaching for the side of the crib after. I think he thought you were going to walk in and pick him up. He’s used to you doing that little bounce thing when you talk to him. I tried to mimic it, but he just glared at me.”

Stiles smiled into the darkness, the edges of Derek’s voice brushing against him like a blanket. Stiles mumbled something unintelligible as the sleepiness was already starting to drag him under.

Derek didn’t hang up. He just kept talking, letting his voice drop even further, murmuring things about Eli’s new wrinkly forehead expressions that Derek loves so much and the disaster that was Peter trying to fold baby laundry when he was helping Derek set up at the loft the day before he moved in.

And slowly - then all at once - Stiles drifted off. The phone stayed pressed to his ear, the faint sound of Derek’s voice still threading through the quiet, soothing as a heartbeat.
~~~~

The warm buzz of sunlight crept across Stiles’ face before he was ready for it. He blinked blearily, eyelids heavy and dry from sleep, and reached out blindly for his phone on the nightstand. He found it still clutched loosely in his hand, pressed against the side of his face where it had stayed the entire night.

The call screen was still up when he unlocked the phone.

Call ended: 1 hour 17 minutes

Stiles blinked again, more awake now. He hadn't said goodbye. He barely remembered Derek still talking when his eyes had drifted shut. Which meant - Derek had stayed on the line. Not just for a few minutes. For over an hour. Listening to Stiles sleep. Or maybe just… being there.

Stiles sat up slowly, heart thudding a little too hard in his chest. He ran a hand through his hair, then stared down at the phone for a long, quiet beat.

Then, finally, he opened their text thread.

stiles: hey.
just saw how long we were on the phone.
sorry i passed out on you like that.

The response came almost immediately, just like it had the night before.

derek: you don’t have to apologize.
i could’ve hung up.
i didn’t.

Stiles stared at the words, rereading them like they might change on the third pass. He bit the inside of his cheek, unsure what to do with the feeling curling around his ribs. It wasn’t confusion - not really. It was something warmer. Quieter. Stranger.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he pulled himself out of bed and moved through the familiar motions of getting ready. Jeans. Hoodie. Keys and wallet. Backpack slung over one shoulder.

First day back.

Senior year.

By the time he slid into the Jeep, he felt mostly put together. Still tired, yeah, but steady. Like maybe the world wasn’t spinning as fast this morning.

Boyd was already outside when he pulled up, standing in a worn hoodie with a lacrosse stick resting casually against his shoulder. He climbed into the passenger seat with a nod of greeting and a quiet, “Morning.”

Stiles gave him a two finger salute. “Bright and early, just like we planned.”

Boyd smirked faintly. “You’re only five minutes late. Personal record?”

“Rude,” Stiles muttered, pulling back into the street. “But fair.”

They rode in silence for a couple of minutes, the morning light soft and gold through the windshield, Beacon Hills still sleepy around them. Then Boyd asked, in his usual calm, unassuming way, “You doing okay?”

Stiles flicked his eyes toward him, surprised by how direct it was, but not in a bad way. Just… Boyd being Boyd.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “I mean, I think so? Probably? It’s weird. Being home without Derek and Eli. Being in school again. Being just… me again, I guess.”

Boyd nodded like he understood. And honestly, he probably did more than most.

Stiles sighed. “I’m fine, though. Really. Just taking it one day at a time. Which is the only option I have considering it’s been just a day.”

They still had ten minutes to kill before the school would unlock, so they detoured down Main Street and swung through the drive thru at the little coffee shack Erica liked to make fun of but still visited religiously.

Stiles ordered a black coffee - “Hotter than hell, please” - and Boyd got something with enough caramel to count as dessert.

When they pulled into a quiet corner of the lot, coffees in hand, Stiles finally let his shoulders relax. The Jeep rumbled beneath them, a steady hum, and the scent of roasted beans filled the small cabin.

Boyd glanced over. “How are things actually going?”

Stiles smiled behind the rim of his cup. He wasn’t sure why he was talking to Boyd about this specifically, but he found he really wanted to talk to him about Derek. “I fell asleep on the phone with Derek last night.”

Boyd’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but he didn’t tease. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, his voice soft. “And he stayed. For over an hour.”

Boyd nodded again, sipped his drink, and said, “Sounds like he missed you.”

Stiles didn’t say anything. Just stared out the windshield at the slow rise of the sun, fingers wrapped tight around his coffee cup, trying to make sense of the warmth blooming quietly in his chest.

Stiles walked into his first class of senior year with his coffee in one hand and a binder under his arm, still riding the caffeine buzz he was halfway through experiencing at full throttle. The classroom was too bright, the AC too loud, and somehow Coach Finstock was already writing on the whiteboard with a squeaky blue marker that should’ve been thrown out in 2007. Boyd trailed behind him, nodding at a few people, but as always keeping to himself.

The moment Stiles slid into his seat - front row, slightly to the left, optimal for quick exits and minimal interaction - Coach turned, squinting like the lights offended him.

“Alright degenerates, welcome to the magical mystery hellhole that is Senior Economics,” Coach began, slapping a textbook down on the desk. “Where you’ll learn how the economy doesn’t work, why none of you can afford a house, and how taxes are actually just government approved daylight robbery.”

Stiles chuckled under his breath and exchanged a glance with Boyd, who looked faintly amused.

“Oh, and real quick, I need your physicals turned in today for lacrosse.” Coach jabbed a finger toward the board. “Whittemore, Lahey, Boyd, Stilinski. Let’s go, let’s go, I don’t have time to babysit your lives. McCall good job being so forgetful that your mommy just went ahead and faxed yours in.”

Three of them stood. Boyd handed his in first, then Isaac - messy as hell but signed - and Jackson, who handed his in like it was an award.

Stiles stayed seated.

“Stilinski,” Coach barked. “Let’s go. Don’t make me use my scary voice.”

“I’m not on the team this year,” Stiles said, evenly.

Coach blinked. “And why the hell not? You were getting pretty good. You didn’t even fall over once at the end of last season.”

“I have other priorities this year,” Stiles replied, casually unscrewing the top of his mug. “Need to focus up.”

From the back of the room, Scott scoffed. Not even subtle about it.

Coach paused. “Something you wanna add to that, McCall?”

Scott leaned forward on his desk, face twisted in mild disdain. “It’s just funny that Stiles is playing house instead of going out for sports.”

The temperature in the room dropped what felt like ten degrees. Even Jackson looked up from his phone to sneer at Scott.

Stiles turned slowly in his chair, eyes locked on Scott’s like a predator who’d just remembered how satisfying it was to bite. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

“Yeah, well, some things are just more important than sports. Like my school work, getting into a good college. And a kid.”

There were a few muffled snickers, a couple widened eyes. Coach looked like someone had just hit him with a two by four.

“Stilinski, you had a baby?” he asked, his voice a mix of awe and panic, like he was about to have to rewrite the entire school handbook.

“No,” Stiles said, grinning as he spun his pen between his fingers. “My best friend Derek had a baby. Stayed with us for a while. Love that little shit, though.”

Scott opened his mouth to say something else, but Coach cut him off with a sharp hand in the air.

“Don’t be a dickhead where a baby is concerned,” Coach said, voice firm and final like a gavel in a courtroom. “Stilinski, if you’re responsible for a child in any way, shape, or form, then that’s your team now. Class dismissed - no, wait, not dismissed, but just metaphorically. Open your damn textbooks.”

Stiles turned back around with a grin twitching at the corners of his mouth, ignoring Scott’s sour stare. Boyd leaned over just a little.

“You handled that well,” he murmured.

“I’ve had practice,” Stiles said, flipping to Chapter One. “Also, Coach might be my new favorite person.”

Stiles had managed to avoid Scott all damn day, a small miracle considering how small Beacon Hills High actually was when Stiles thought about it too hard. He’d ducked into classrooms early, timed his exits with strategic water breaks, and at one point pretended to be deep in conversation with Greenberg just to make a clean escape when he spotted Scott coming down the hall. It was exhausting, but worth it - he wasn’t in the mood for passive aggressive jabs about his priorities, or worse, that judgmental “you’ve changed” tone Scott had picked up lately. Stiles knew he would let Scott get to him because he was emotionally compromised already. (Due to Derek, definitely not due to Scott)

By lunch, Stiles was starving and emotionally fried, but at least he had a safe spot to land.

The far courtyard table, tucked under the shade of a battered tree that was probably older than the school, was already partially occupied when he arrived. Boyd nodded at him in quiet acknowledgment, headphones around his neck and a tupperware container in front of him that looked suspiciously like leftover ribs. Erica was sipping from a can of iced coffee, boots propped on the bench as she sat on the tabletop like she owned the whole quad. Isaac had sprawled out dramatically across the table with his head on Erica’s thigh, picking the pepperoni off his pizza with great focus. Jackson sat with a protein shake and a container of quinoa looking aesthetic and macro balanced.

“Look who survived Econ,” Erica said, wiggling her fingers in a lazy wave.

Stiles dropped his bag and sat with a groan. “Barely. Coach thinks I’m raising a child and might start sending me baby formula coupons any day now.”

Erica snorted. “Aren’t you? You’re basically that kid’s momma.”

“Not biologically,” Stiles muttered, pulling out a PB&J he’d packed in a half awake stupor that morning. “And not legally. And not officially. But emotionally? Yeah, I’m all in on that kid.”

Boyd passed him a bag of chips without comment. Stiles took it with a grateful smile, cracking the seal and glancing down at his phone out of habit. A few notifications lit up the screen, mostly memes from Erica and a reminder from his weather app that it might rain later, but his heart did a little somersault when he saw the text thread from Derek.

Derek:
Grumpy baby today.
Already bit me once.
Actually bit me again just now. Send help.
Eli is very upset today. He is running this house and I am just his humble servant.

Stiles grinned into his sandwich.

He typed back quickly

Stiles: You should know by now that resistance is futile. Let the wild cub reign supreme.
Also, sorry about the biting. Have you tried bribery? Or snuggles? Or bribery WITH snuggles?

Derek’s response came fast.

Derek: I offered snuggles. He bit my arm.
love him, but the demon has sharp teeth (tooth).

Stiles bit back a laugh, trying to act casual.

Isaac peeked over. “Derek?”

“Yeah.” Stiles didn’t bother hiding the smile on his face. “Eli’s in a mood. Teething. Probably possessed. Same thing.”

Erica reached over and tugged Stiles’ phone from his hand before he could protest. She read through the exchange with an exaggerated “aww” noise and then passed it to Jackson, who barely blinked.

“You’re so soft,” Jackson muttered.

“Shut up, you cry when your cat sneezes.”

“She sneezes like a baby mouse. It’s adorable.”

Erica threw a fry at him.

Stiles leaned back, face tilted up toward the half clouded sky, warmth in his chest despite the headache of the morning. He felt calm here. Safe, even. No judgment. No backhanded comments about how much he’d “changed” or why he wasn’t on the lacrosse field.

Just his weird, chaotic, amazing group of friends, and a text thread from a brooding werewolf who somehow managed to be the gentlest dad Stiles had ever seen.

He stole another chip from Boyd’s bag and smiled to himself, cheeks warm as another message buzzed through.

Derek: He fell asleep curled around my arm like a little koala. I can’t move. Please tell me school is going terribly so I don’t feel like the only one the universe is screwing over today.

Stiles: I’m eating smushed peanut butter, Erica’s bullying Jackson, and Coach still doesn’t know how taxes work. It’s a pretty decent day actually. And you’re fine.
~~~~

The second Stiles stepped into the loft, the tension from the day melted off his shoulders. The heavy door shut behind him with a soft click, and he dropped his backpack by the couch with a sigh. His voice carried through the open space, tired but teasing, “Baby, I’m home!”

He meant Eli. He absolutely meant Eli.

But before he could take another step, Derek’s voice floated in from the kitchen - warm, playful, and unexpectedly sincere.

“Welcome home, my love!”

Stiles froze. His heart did a weird little flip flop and his mouth went dry. He knew Derek was playing along - he did, he did - but there was something in his tone that wrapped itself around Stiles’ chest and squeezed. Something so domestic and easy and right that it knocked the breath out of him.

And then Derek appeared, walking into the room with Eli perched neatly on his hip. The baby took one look at Stiles and his whole face lit up with glee.

“Hey, buddy-!” Stiles started, but didn’t get to finish.

Eli shrieked in delight, his little body arching forward with arms outstretched, making frantic grabby hands toward Stiles like his whole day had just been made. Derek let out a soft laugh and shifted his hold so the baby wouldn’t launch himself headfirst across the room.

“Okay, okay, alright - I’m coming to you,” Stiles said quickly, stepping forward as Eli squirmed in Derek’s grip.

The moment Stiles took the baby into his arms, Eli calmed immediately, nuzzling his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck and clutching the fabric of his hoodie like it was the most important thing in the world.

Stiles closed his eyes for a second, breathed in the soft baby scent of him - formula and shampoo and something warm and safe that made his chest ache.

“I missed you too, jellybean,” he whispered, and kissed the side of Eli’s head.

Derek was still standing there, watching them both with a quiet look in his eyes that Stiles didn’t quite know how to name. It wasn’t just fondness. It was something heavier, deeper - like Derek was seeing something he didn’t want to lose.

“You guys have a good day?” Stiles asked after a beat, adjusting Eli’s weight against him.

Derek shrugged, but his smile was soft. “I got bit again. That count?”

Stiles snorted, the tension of the school day completely dissolving under the warmth of being here. “You survive?”

“Barely,” Derek said. “But now that you’re home…” He paused, voice lower, almost shy, “...I’ll live.”

Stiles ducked his head, cheeks a little pink, pretending Eli’s hair needed adjusting just to avoid the weight of that look.
~~~~

Eli had been fine - so fine - cuddled up against Stiles, little baby arms wrapped tight around his hoodie like he’d found his person for the evening. But then, slowly, something shifted. He started to squirm. His content hums turned into soft whines. His fingers tightened and released over and over again like he couldn’t get comfortable, couldn’t settle.

“Hey, hey, little man,” Stiles murmured, adjusting him gently. “You good? What’s up?”

Eli let out a grumpy little huff and shoved his face into Stiles’ collarbone, only to immediately pull away like it was the wrong thing.

Stiles looked up, a little helpless. “Is he hungry again? I fed him already. Diaper’s good. He napped. What’s happening?”

Derek, watching from the kitchen, leaned one hip against the counter and gave a small, knowing smile. “You smell like too many people.”

Stiles blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You smell like Boyd. And Isaac. And Erica. And Jackson. All that is okay. But you also smell like a hundred strangers. Hallways. Locker rooms. Classrooms.” Derek’s eyes softened as he stepped closer, voice more thoughtful than judgmental. “His wolf side doesn’t like it. He’s getting confused.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, blinking down at the baby. “Sorry, dude. I didn’t mean to smell like the high school population.”

He turned back to Derek. “I can just run home real quick, shower, change-”

“No need,” Derek interrupted, casually. “Just use mine.”

Stiles stared. “Use your… shower?”

Derek shrugged like it was no big deal. “Yeah. I’ll grab you something to wear. If you smell like me, it’ll settle him.”

Stiles opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “That’s not - um. Okay. Sure. That makes sense.”

Derek said nothing. Just gave a nod and turned down the hallway, already tugging open a drawer.

A few minutes later, Stiles emerged from the bathroom barefoot, towel drying his hair, his skin flushed from the heat of Derek’s shower. The shirt Derek had given him was slightly too big, the sleeves brushing his elbows, and the sweatpants hung low on his hips, loose and soft from years of use. He looked… domestic. Rumpled and warm and just…Derek scented.

He crossed the loft quietly and sank into the couch beside Derek, arms open for Eli. The baby went to him without a single sound of protest, tucking his face into Stiles’ chest and letting out a satisfied sigh that made Derek raise a brow.

“Better?” Stiles asked softly, brushing his fingers through Eli’s curls.

Eli didn’t answer - he was already nearly asleep.

But Derek didn’t answer either, and that was the problem.

Because his wolf was losing it.

The moment Stiles had stepped into the room, all damp skin and loose limbs and smelling so much like Derek it could’ve been his own scent marking, his wolf had risen like a storm inside him. Hungry. Possessive. Unruly.

Derek tried to be subtle about it - cleared his throat, shifted positions, looked anywhere but at Stiles. But every time he caught a glimpse of the way Stiles’ flushed skin peeked from the collar of his shirt, of the way Stiles smiled sleepily down at his son, his wolf paced harder.

He wanted to go over there, bury his nose in Stiles’ neck. Wanted to wrap around the two of them and not let go.

But he didn’t. He stayed seated, hands clenched tight on his thighs, breathing deep through his nose.

“You okay?” Stiles asked absently, not even looking at him, completely focused on Eli now.

Derek’s voice came out just a little too low. “Fine.”

Stiles glanced at him then - wet hair curling over his forehead, the scent of clean skin and Derek’s detergent thick in the air.

Derek looked away.

And Stiles, not knowing the half of it, just smiled and cradled Eli a little closer, letting out a soft sigh that sounded far too much like contentment.

Chapter Text

The weeks leading up to Stiles’ birthday blurred into something soft and steady - an unexpected rhythm that felt almost domestic, almost permanent, even though neither Derek nor Stiles dared to name it.

Stiles spent more nights at the loft than at his own house. It had started innocently. late study sessions with Eli asleep in the bassinet, Derek reading on the couch, Stiles muttering over highlighters and textbooks until he’d slump sideways and pass out. Derek had quietly carried him to the bed the first time, setting him down on top of the blankets with a pillow tucked under his head, thinking it would be a one time thing. But it wasn’t.

It turned into Stiles crawling into Derek’s bed on his own after Eli was down for the night, sometimes yawning out a request, “Move over, dude”, and sometimes not saying anything at all, just slipping in beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Always platonic, always clothed, but full of warmth. Derek didn’t argue. His wolf didn’t let him.

There was more physical closeness, too. Little things. Stiles ruffling Eli’s hair, then Derek’s, without a second thought. Derek setting a steadying hand on Stiles’ back when he got too wound up. Hugs that lingered. Shoulder bumps that turned into leaning together while Eli babbled between them. It wasn’t dramatic - it was quiet, subtle, unspoken - but it was constant.

And the flirting, if you could call it that, came with the same quiet persistence.

Stiles would tease Derek about his brooding face and then add, “Lucky for you, brooding looks really hot on you.”

Derek would arch an eyebrow, trying to look unimpressed, but the faintest curl of his mouth gave him away.

When Stiles managed to put together dinner without burning something, Derek deadpanned, “I’m shocked. You might actually be domestic material.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Stiles would shoot back, grinning, and Derek would look away before his own smile got out of hand.

They orbited each other like that - close enough for everyone else to notice, too stubborn to admit it to each other. Even Peter made a few pointed comments that had Derek narrowing his eyes in warning and Stiles pretending not to blush.

By the time the calendar inched closer to Stiles’ eighteenth birthday, Derek’s loft had become more than a second home for him. Noah even joked once, “Should I start forwarding your mail there?” and Stiles, without thinking, answered, “Yeah, probably.”

So when Derek started planning the surprise party, it wasn’t just about giving Stiles a celebration. It was about making sure he knew, really knew, that he belonged. That he wasn’t just orbiting around Derek and Eli and the pack, but that he was in it, part of it, claimed by it.

And as Derek lay awake one of those nights, Stiles asleep beside him and Eli snuffling softly in his crib, he realized: Stiles turning eighteen wasn’t just about a birthday. For Derek’s wolf, it felt like a line in the sand. A shift. A moment that was about to change everything.
~~~~

It wasn’t dramatic, not at first. Just subtle changes. Derek didn’t text back as quickly. He didn’t linger when Stiles hugged him goodbye. His smiles - those small, rare ones that Stiles had come to think of as his - started feeling like ghosts, half there and fleeting.

Stiles noticed immediately.

He noticed how Derek’s voice would hitch slightly before he changed the subject whenever Stiles mentioned plans for the weekend. He noticed that Derek suddenly had “errands” and “projects” that didn’t include him, that his tone went careful and clipped when Stiles offered to come by.

By Wednesday, Stiles was convinced he’d done something wrong.

He tried not to let it show - he still showed up at the loft, still grinned too wide, still made faces at Eli until the baby’s laughter filled the room - but inside, panic was clawing at him.

This is what happens, his brain whispered. You get comfortable. You start to think you’re wanted. Then they pull back.

He told himself Derek was just busy, that maybe Eli was teething again, that maybe it wasn’t about him at all, but it didn’t stop the ache that came every time Derek didn’t look at him quite the same way.

The worst part was that Derek wasn’t cold. He wasn’t angry. He was just… distracted. Cagey. And that made it so much worse, because Derek wasn’t the type to play games. If he wanted distance, he’d just say it.

So when Derek brushed past him one afternoon, mumbling something about having things to do in town, Stiles stood there in the middle of the loft with his hands shoved into his pockets and this crushing weight in his chest.

“Yeah, no, that’s cool,” he said, voice a little too bright. “I’ll just, uh… go home, I guess.”

Derek hesitated, like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. Just nodded and left.

That night, Stiles didn’t sleep. He lay in bed staring at the ceiling, trying to replay every word they’d said the last few weeks, trying to pinpoint the exact moment things had started to fall apart.

By Thursday morning, Stiles had convinced himself that Derek had realized how one sided everything was - that Stiles was the idiot who’d fallen for someone who was just being kind.

He didn't go by the loft after school, saying he had too much homework. He stopped texting as often. And when Derek did text, his replies were short and cautious, trying to sound casual but dripping with insecurity.

He told himself he was fine. That this was inevitable. That Derek didn’t owe him anything.

But he missed them.

He missed the baby’s laughter.

He missed Derek’s quiet steadiness.

He missed feeling like he belonged somewhere. Even in those few short days.

And Derek - poor, oblivious Derek - was pacing the loft every night, trying to figure out how to finish decorating, coordinate the pack, and make sure Stiles didn’t suspect anything.

Meanwhile, Stiles was quietly falling apart, convinced that the person he loved was slipping away from him just as he’d let his guard down.
~~~~

Peter burst into the loft like a storm front, the metal door slamming against the wall hard enough to echo. Derek didn’t even flinch, he was crouched by the couch, fussing with the string of fairy lights he’d been half hiding behind the bookshelves, his jaw set in that quiet, stubborn concentration he used when he wanted to avoid thinking.

“Okay,” Peter snapped, voice sharp as a whip. “What the actual hell is your problem?”

Derek didn’t look up right away. He clipped another light into place, adjusted it by an inch. “Good morning to you too.”

Peter’s footsteps were clipped and furious as he crossed the floor. “Don’t you ‘good morning’ me. Stiles texted me. Me.” He jabbed a finger into Derek’s shoulder. “And do you know what he said?”

Derek finally straightened, eyes narrowing. “What?”

Peter took a breath, like he was trying not to shake him. “He said, and I quote ‘Maybe love just isn’t for me.’” His voice dropped an octave, not with sarcasm, but something dangerously close to concern. “Now, you want to tell me what you did to make him say that?”

The words landed like a physical hit. Derek froze. His pulse kicked hard in his throat.

He hadn’t meant for it to get this bad. He’d just… gotten quiet. Careful. His wolf had been on edge for weeks trying to plan this surprise party - coordinating with the pack, buying decorations that didn’t make him gag.

But to Stiles, it must’ve looked like Derek was pulling away.

“Derek,” Peter said, pacing now, frustration in every sharp movement. “You’ve been cagey, you’ve been short with him on the phone, you’ve ignored half his texts - what are you thinking?”

“I was trying to surprise him,” Derek said, finally. His voice was low, tight. “His birthday’s in two days. I didn’t want him to know.”

Peter stopped dead. “You were-” He blinked, incredulous. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“I didn’t want to ruin it,” Derek said, the words spilling out now. “He’s been stressed with classes-” He scrubbed a hand down his face, frustration and guilt bleeding together. “I thought this would make him happy. And now he thinks-”

“That love isn’t for him,” Peter finished flatly, crossing his arms. “Which, if you hadn’t noticed, means you’ve successfully made one of the most talkative people alive spiral into believing he’s unlovable. That’s a new achievement, even for a Hale.”

Derek dropped onto the couch, head in his hands. The lights he’d been untangling glowed faintly on the floor, soft and stupidly warm. “I didn’t realize how bad it looked.”

Peter sighed, his tone softening just a little. “You’re not the only one who doesn’t talk about feelings, nephew, but Stiles? He lives in words. If you go quiet, he fills the silence with the worst things he can imagine.”

Derek’s throat tightened. “I know.”

He thought back over the last few weeks - the missed calls when he’d been at the party store, the short replies when he was hiding his anxiety about his plans. Every time Stiles had said, ‘Are you okay?’ and Derek had said, ‘I’m fine.’

No wonder Stiles had started to think the worst.

Peter glanced around the loft at the half-finished decorations. “You can still fix this, you know. But if I were you, I’d start with an actual conversation before the man decides to drown his heartbreak into questionable decision making.”

Derek stood abruptly, grabbing his phone off the table. His heartbeat was too fast, his stomach tight with guilt and panic.

He opened his messages. The last text from Stiles sat there like a bruise.

sorry I'm bugging you when you're so busy

His thumb hovered for a moment, then he hit call.

He didn’t even know what he was going to say. Just that he couldn’t let Stiles think the worst. Not for another second.

Derek paced the length of the loft as the call rang, each buzz echoing too loudly in his ear. Peter leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed, watching with the calm detachment of someone who’d already seen this car crash and was just waiting for the debris to settle.

The call clicked.

“Uh… hey,” Stiles’ voice came through, thin and uncertain. The background noise was soft - maybe his car, maybe the park he liked to walk in when his head got too full. He sounded tired in a way that made Derek’s chest ache. “Didn’t expect you to call.”

Derek stopped pacing. “Yeah. I-” He swallowed, steadying his voice. “I needed to.”

There was a small pause, the kind where Stiles was probably chewing his lip, debating whether to deflect with a joke or brace for a fight. “Okay…” he said finally, cautious. “So what’s up? You sound… weird.”

“I read your text,” Derek said quietly.

The silence on the other end of the line stretched, heavy and sharp. Then Stiles gave a small, hollow laugh. “Yeah, well. You weren’t really talking, so I just figured maybe I should stop expecting things that weren’t gonna happen.”

Derek winced. “Stiles-”

“No, it’s fine,” Stiles cut in, voice cracking just a little. “I mean, I get it. You’re busy, you’ve got Eli, you’ve got, like, this whole life that doesn’t need me in it every second of everyday. I was just… I don’t know what I was doing, honestly. Pretending, maybe.”

Peter closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like idiot nephew.

Derek forced out a breath. “You’re wrong.”

That made Stiles go quiet again.

“You’re wrong about me not needing you,” Derek continued, softer now. “I’ve been quiet. I know I have. And it’s not because I don’t care. It’s the opposite.”

He heard a shaky exhale through the phone. “Then what was it? You barely texted. You brushed me off when I called. I thought maybe I’d said something, or… I don’t know, was the something that pushed you away.”

Derek rubbed the back of his neck, guilt clawing at him. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I was… trying to make something good happen, and I didn’t realize how it looked. I messed that up.”

“Trying to make something good happen,” Stiles repeated, slow and uncertain, like he was testing the words.

Derek hesitated, then said, “Just…trust me, okay?”

Another pause. Then, a small laugh. “That’s a big ask, Derek.”

“I know.” Derek’s voice softened. “But I’m asking anyway.”

The line was quiet for a few long seconds. Derek thought maybe he’d pushed too far, that Stiles would hang up. But then Stiles sighed. “You’re not giving me a lot to work with here.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Derek said. “Come by the loft tonight. Eli misses you like crazy.”

That drew a faint noise from Stiles - part laugh, part choked surprise. “Eli misses me, huh?”

“He keeps cuddling with your hoodie and the blanket you use for the couch.’”

That did it - Stiles laughed, real this time, though it was still wobbly around the edges. “That kid’s gonna be a genius. You better not be teaching him your stoic communication skills.”

Peter smirked from across the room, mouthing ‘you’re welcome’ like this was somehow his doing.

Derek ignored him, focusing on the quiet sound of Stiles breathing on the other end of the line. “Come by tonight?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said softly. “Yeah, okay. I’ll come by.”

There was a long, quiet beat, the kind that hummed with something unspoken. Then Stiles added, almost hesitantly, “Thanks for calling.”

“Don’t thank me,” Derek said, his voice low. “Just… don’t give up on me yet.”

The call ended, but Derek didn’t move for a moment, the silence of the loft pressing around him.

Peter finally broke it with a dry clap. “Well, that was almost romantic. You didn’t tell him about the party, did you?”

“No,” Derek said, pocketing his phone. “He’ll find out Saturday.”

Peter raised a brow. “And what exactly do you plan to do until then?”

Derek looked around at the half hung lights, the mess of decorations he'd have to put away again and the faint hope still lingering in his chest.

“Make it worth trusting me,” he said simply.
~~~~

When Stiles knocked on the loft door that evening, it was softer than usual - hesitant, almost apologetic. Derek didn’t even let him finish the second knock before opening it. He hated that Stiles was even knocking.

The moment their eyes met, Derek saw it, the exhaustion, the red rims of Stiles’ eyes, the kind of hurt that had been festering quietly all week. But then, before either of them could say a word, a squeal broke through the air.

Eli.

The five month old was squirming wildly in Derek’s arms, face lighting up like someone had flipped a switch. His tiny hands reached out, insistent and impatient, fingers opening and closing in that familiar grabby hands way that made Stiles laugh even now, even through the ache in his chest.

“Hey, little dude,” Stiles murmured, voice cracking as Derek handed Eli over. The baby practically dove into his chest, tiny arms wrapping around Stiles’ neck in a surprisingly tight hold. Stiles’ breath hitched. He pressed his face into Eli’s soft curls, eyes squeezing shut as the smell of baby shampoo and warmth filled his lungs.

God, he’d missed him.

It had only been a few days. just a few stupid days of awkward texts and missed calls and overthinking, but to Eli, it must’ve felt like forever. The baby whined softly, nuzzling against Stiles’ jaw, and Stiles swallowed hard, blinking back tears.

“I missed you too, buddy,” he whispered. “So much.” he walked over and sat down on the couch.

Eli made a soft, contented noise and relaxed against him, head tucked under Stiles’ chin. The warmth of that small body, the trust, the familiarity - it hit him like a wave. And before he could stop it, a tear slipped down his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispered - to Eli first, then to Derek, who stood only a few feet away, watching with quiet intensity. “I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have pulled back like that. I let my feelings screw with me, and that’s not fair to you. Or him.”

Derek’s throat worked as he swallowed, his eyes softening. He moved closer, slow and careful, and when he sat down beside Stiles on the couch, their knees brushed. The touch grounded them both.

“Stiles,” Derek said quietly, his voice rough around the edges. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Stiles gave a watery laugh. “Tell that to my overactive brain.” He looked down at Eli, who had fallen asleep mid snuggle, a little fist still gripping the fabric of Stiles’ hoodie. “I just-” He sighed. “I missed you guys. I missed this. And when you got quiet, I thought I’d messed it all up somehow. Like maybe I wasn’t supposed to fit in here the way I wanted to.”

Derek reached out, hesitated, then rested a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. His thumb brushed lightly against the collar of his hoodie, warm and steady. “You fit here,” he said. “You always have.”

The words hit Stiles like a heartbeat - steady, certain, too much and not enough all at once.

“Then what’s going on?” he asked, voice small, almost afraid to hope. “Why does it feel like you’ve been keeping something from me?”

Derek’s hand tensed slightly on his shoulder. He exhaled slowly, looking down at Eli’s tiny sleeping face, then back at Stiles.

“I can’t tell you yet,” Derek said, and when Stiles’ brows furrowed, he hurried on. “It’s not bad. I promise. Just… trust me a little longer, okay?”

Stiles stared at him for a long moment, searching his face for any sign of deception, any flicker of distance. But what he saw instead was sincerity - maybe even fear. Derek wasn’t hiding something to keep him out; he was hiding something to make something good.

“Just wait until Saturday,” Derek said softly. “Please.”

There was something raw in the way he said it, the slight tremor in his voice, the way his eyes didn’t leave Stiles’ for a second. It wasn’t a command; it was a plea.

Stiles looked down at Eli again, who was sleeping peacefully against his chest, a tiny, drooly smile ghosting across his lips. Then he looked back at Derek and nodded.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I’ll wait.”

The tension in Derek’s shoulders eased, and the smallest smile tugged at his mouth. “Thank you.”

For a long while, they sat there shoulder to shoulder, quiet except for the soft hum of the loft’s fan and Eli’s slow, even breathing. Stiles leaned back against the couch, exhaustion finally giving way to calm, and Derek stayed right beside him, one hand gently resting against Eli’s tiny back, the other still on Stiles’ shoulder.

It wasn’t a confession.

It wasn’t a resolution.

But it was trust.

And for the first time all week, that was enough.

The loft was quiet that night. The city outside hummed faintly through the windows, but inside, everything was still. Stiles had just laid Eli down in his crib after the baby’s last bottle, lingering long enough to brush his knuckles over the soft curve of his cheek before turning back to Derek, who was standing near the stairs.

“Hey,” Stiles said, voice low. “Would it be okay if I… stayed? Just for tonight?”

Derek didn’t even hesitate. “You absolutely can.”

Something in the way he said it, the steadiness, the warmth, made Stiles’ chest ache in a way he didn’t quite understand. He nodded, tried to play it off casual with a small smile. “Cool. Thanks.”

Later, when the loft had gone dim and quiet, Stiles found himself drifting toward Derek’s room. He didn’t bother with pretense anymore - not after so many nights like this, curled up side by side, half asleep and half talking about nothing.

He slipped under the covers, the sheets cool against his skin, and settled facing away from Derek, eyes fixed on the faint glow of the streetlights spilling across the ceiling. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if Derek was awake - the man was so still, so quiet, that it almost felt like he’d already fallen asleep.

But then Derek moved.

It was small at first - a shift of the mattress, a hand brushing lightly against Stiles’ hip - and then a quiet, deliberate tug that brought Stiles backward until his spine was pressed to the solid warmth of Derek’s chest.

Stiles froze for a heartbeat, heart stuttering in his ribs. Derek had never initiated contact like this before. Sure, they’d woken up tangled more times than either of them could count, but that was always accidental - unspoken, brushed off. This wasn’t.

Derek’s arm slid around his middle, holding him there, careful and protective but intentional. His breath was warm against the back of Stiles’ neck, slow and steady.

“I’m sorry,” Derek murmured, voice rough and low.

Stiles blinked, unsure he’d heard him right. “What?”

“I’m sorry I made you doubt everything,” Derek said quietly. “That wasn’t my intention.” His hand tightened just a little, the pressure grounding. “I’m sorry for how you’re feeling right now. For making you question everything. I hope you realize that wasn’t my intention.”

For a long moment, Stiles didn’t say anything. His throat was tight, his eyes stung, and there was so much in his chest - relief, confusion, affection - that it all tangled together into something he couldn’t name.

He exhaled shakily, his body finally relaxing back into Derek’s hold. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I know.”

And he did.

Derek wasn’t the kind of guy who said things he didn’t mean. When he pulled back, it wasn’t to punish or push away - it was because he was trying to do something right. Stiles had let his brain twist that into something it wasn’t, but right now, pressed against Derek’s chest, feeling his heartbeat against his back, he knew better.

Derek’s chin brushed against the top of his head, slow and soft. “Get some sleep, Stiles.”

Stiles smiled faintly, his voice already drifting. “You too, big guy.”

And for the first time in days, he actually did. falling asleep warm, safe, and wrapped in the arms of the man who’d never once let him fall alone.
~~~~

The morning light spilled softly through the loft windows, catching on the hardwood floors and the warm, cozy chaos of breakfast prep. Derek moved with quiet efficiency in the kitchen, flipping pancakes and carefully frying eggs while keeping an ear tuned to the soft gurgles and coos coming from the living room. The scent of butter and syrup mingled with the faint tang of baby lotion and powder - a smell Derek had grown to love.

Stiles was sprawled across the rug with Eli, who was impossibly squirmy in his tiny pajamas. The baby’s little hands grabbed at Stiles’ fingers, tugging at his hair, trying to mimic the funny faces Stiles made.

“Whoa, who’s a strong little dude?” Stiles laughed, letting Eli bounce lightly on his lap. “Yeah, that’s right, you’re a mighty wolf!”

Eli gurgled in response, a high pitched squeal of delight, and Stiles leaned down to press a soft kiss to the top of his silky little head. He cradled Eli gently, bouncing him side to side in rhythm with his own heartbeat, humming a nonsense tune that made the baby kick his tiny legs in excitement.

From the kitchen, Derek called out without turning from the stove, “Don’t let him pull your hair out yet. Save that for when he's older and you're doing it yourself.”

Stiles grinned over his shoulder. “Too late, he’s got my whole head in his grip. I think he likes me best this morning.”

Derek chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound that made Stiles’ chest ache a little in a good way. He plated a pancake stack and carried it over to the living room, careful not to step on the toys and stuffed animals scattered across the floor. He set the plate down on the coffee table and ruffled Eli’s hair gently.

“Breakfast is served, little man,” Derek said softly. Eli cooed at him, reaching up to touch Derek’s face with both hands, and Derek let himself be pulled into a tiny, squirmy cuddle.

Stiles watched them for a moment, heart full, before settling back onto the rug, bouncing Eli on his lap again. He whispered, “You’re gonna have a good day too, little dude.”

The three of them sat there like that for a while - pancakes forgotten for the moment - just laughing at Eli’s tiny antics, Derek’s quiet hum of amusement, and Stiles’ soft, playful chatter. It was ordinary and domestic, but in a way that made it feel extraordinary, like a little pocket of the world made just for them.

Stiles finally glanced at the clock and groaned. “Ugh, school. Already?” he muttered, bouncing Eli gently one last time before handing him over to Derek. The baby responded with a soft yawn and a tiny stretch, as if he understood the gravity of the situation.

Derek, still sitting cross legged on the rug, held Eli against his chest while running a hand through the baby’s soft hair. “Yeah, already,” he said softly, his voice calm and grounding. “But we’ll see each other tonight. You’ve got your homework, I’ve got… stuff, and Eli will take a nap before you get back. He’ll be fine.”

Stiles glanced down at Eli’s chubby cheeks and little round hands, curling into tiny fists. “I know he will, but… I just want to soak up every second, you know?” His voice cracked just slightly, and he caught Derek’s eye, who nodded knowingly.

“I know,” Derek said, standing and handing Eli to Stiles for a quick cuddle before he dressed. “You’ll get your time. Every day. And he’s fine. You’re his favorite person, ya know.” Derek added with a small, teasing smirk, which made Stiles laugh despite the lump in his throat.

Stiles kissed Eli one more time on the forehead. “Fine. Favorite human Stiles will survive until after school,” he said dramatically, ruffling Eli’s tiny hair. Eli responded with a happy squeal, kicking his legs like he approved of Stiles’ statement.

Derek held Eli close and smiled at Stiles as he grabbed his backpack. “Go, before you’re late. And remember - homework first. Then come home, we’ll be here.”

Stiles nodded, practically bouncing as he headed toward the door. “Yeah, yeah! Don’t let him turn the place into a zoo while I’m gone!”

Derek laughed softly, setting Eli on the couch for a quick stretch. “I think we’ll manage. Now go, Stiles. School won’t wait.”

Stiles spun around at the door, giving Derek one last grin. “I’ll be back before you even blink, I swear!”

With that, he dashed out, leaving Derek and Eli in the soft morning light of the loft, the quiet hum of domestic life stretching comfortably between them.
~~~~

Stiles slumped slightly in his chair as the classroom buzzed with the usual chatter, the crisp early October air making the room feel a little cozier than usual. It was early morning, and he was already mentally planning his evening with Derek and Eli. Tomorrow was his birthday, and Stiles could feel it hanging over him like a sweet, tantalizing tension he couldn’t shake.

He glanced around the room at his classmates. Jackson, Boyd, and Isaac were all settled in near him, scribbling in their notebooks or whispering small jokes back and forth. They were his pack, his safe corner in the chaos of high school, and Stiles leaned on that comfort more than he cared to admit.

Then, of course, Scott had to chime in. “Still playing house, Stiles? You reek of Derek and what I assume is his spawn.” His smirk was obnoxious and utterly predictable.

Stiles shot him a tight lipped glare but didn’t rise to the bait. He was used to Scott’s passive aggressive digs by now, especially about him “playing house” with Derek and Eli. He wasn’t going to give Scott the satisfaction.

Coach Finstock, who was perched at his desk at the front of the room, didn’t even raise an eyebrow at the comment before cutting in sharply. “Scott, shut the hell up. Seriously, it’s getting old. We’ve all heard it. Now sit down and act like a mature adult for one damn minute, will you?”

Scott muttered something under his breath but sank back into his chair, clearly annoyed that the comment hadn’t landed.

Jackson smirked at Stiles, leaning over and whispering, “Ignore him, man. You’ve got a real life with a tiny human and an alpha to boot. He’s stuck playing high school drama while you’re literally living the good stuff.”

Boyd nodded, smirking fondly. “Yeah, Stilinski, we’re all envious of your domestic chaos. I'll admit it.”

Isaac chuckled, elbowing Stiles lightly. “You’ve got the whole pack behind you, man. Scott’s just stuck on bitter mode, as usual.”

Stiles allowed himself a small grin, finally relaxing a little. The way his friends had his back - his real pack - was a comfort he hadn’t realized he needed quite so much.

He leaned back in his chair, glanced at the clock, and allowed himself a quiet smile. One more day until his birthday. And he had a feeling this one would be… different. Special. He just didn’t know how spectacular it was going to be yet.

By mid morning, Stiles was tapping his pencil against his notebook but not actually taking notes. His phone sat face up on his desk, and he kept sneaking glances at it. A small buzz would make him nearly jump out of his skin, and he’d have to fight to keep his smile contained.

Sure enough, a text from Derek popped up:

Eli’s been fussy. Misses you. Can’t wait for tonight.

Stiles’ chest warmed instantly. He typed back quickly, fingers moving faster than he realized:

Tell him I miss him too. I’ll be home as soon as I can. Promise I’ll get him smiling again.

He glanced up just in time to catch Boyd giving him a knowing look. “You texting about your tiny wlf again?” Boyd whispered, smirking.

Stiles rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the smile from spreading. “He’s five months old, but he’s the boss of me. You don’t understand, Boyd.”

Erica snorted. “You’ve gone full parent mode. I mean, not that I don’t get it, but seriously, man, he’s not even talking yet.”

Stiles leaned back in his chair, feeling a little more grounded despite the tension in his chest. He loved school, loved his friends, but nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to coming home to Derek and Eli.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of classes and quiet excitement. By the time the final bell rang, Stiles was practically running out of the building, waving off Boyd, Isaac, and Jackson, and Erica.

The drive home was fast. He pictured Derek’s smirk, Eli’s chirpy little noises, and the warm, safe chaos of home.

When he got to the loft, the door swung open, and Derek was waiting, leaning casually against the doorway with Eli cooing softly in his arms.

“Hey,” Derek said, voice soft.

Stiles practically lunged forward, catching Eli in his arms and pressing a soft kiss to the baby’s head. “You have no idea how much I missed you,” he whispered, smiling at Derek over the baby’s tiny hands.

Derek’s wolf stirred quietly, all protective instincts humming at the sight. Stiles didn’t notice, completely absorbed in Eli’s wriggling, cooing form.

It was going to be a long, wonderful, chaotic, perfect day.
~~~~

Stiles shifted Eli in his arms, careful not to jostle him, and glanced up at Derek, who was lounging on the couch with one arm draped across the backrest, eyes half lidded but attentive.

“Hey,” Derek started, voice low and even, “tomorrow, I need to run a few errands. Would you mind taking Eli with you to your place for a bit? Just for a few hours.”

Stiles blinked, caught off guard. “Wait…tomorrow? My birthday?” His voice had the slightest edge of disappointment, though he tried to keep it light. “You’re saying…like, I get the baby for my birthday?”

Derek smirked faintly, though there was a softness in his eyes. “Yeah. I figured…you’d rather spend the morning with him anyway. And it gives me time to get done what I need to.”

Stiles felt the sting of wanting to be included in everything. But looking down at Eli, who was gnawing gently on his little fist and gurgling, it wasn’t hard to agree. “Yeah…no problem. We can do that.”

Derek gave him a faint nod, then leaned back against the couch, curling slightly toward Stiles. “Thanks…you always make it easier,” he murmured. His hand brushed gently against Stiles’ side, and the subtle weight of him, the familiar warmth, made Stiles’ chest tighten in a way he hadn’t expected.

Later, when they curled up to lay down with Eli tucked around Stiles, Stiles tried to push the thought away, the fact that part of his birthday would be spent away from Derek and the loft, the subtle ache of missing Derek. Even as Derek’s arm settled over him and pulled him close, even as Eli’s soft breathing matched the rhythm of Stiles’ own, the disappointment lingered quietly at the edges.

He knew he’d still have the baby, still have Derek, still have his own way of celebrating…he just wished he wasn’t missing out on the rest of it. But for now, he let himself fall into the warmth of their little heap on the bed, Eli snuggled against his chest, Derek’s steady presence at his back, and tried to focus on that.
~~~~

The morning light filtered through the blinds as Stiles slowly blinked awake, warm and cocooned between the folds of Derek’s blanket. He could hear the quiet clink of dishes from the kitchen and the faint gurgle of Eli, and realized Derek was already up. Stretching carefully, he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Derek appeared moments later in the doorway, holding a fully packed diaper bag slung over one shoulder. “Got this ready for you,” he said, voice quiet, almost casual, though there was an edge of pride in his tone. “Everything you’ll need for the morning…bottles, diapers, wipes, extra clothes.”

Stiles grinned sleepily, his heart warming at the sight. “You didn’t have to…”

Derek shrugged, though the ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah, I did. You’re in charge of the tiny beast today. I figure it’s easier if you just grab everything at once.”

They moved into the kitchen, where Derek had already started breakfast. The smell of toasted bagels and scrambled eggs filled the space. Eli was strapped into the high chair, gurgling happily as Stiles set to work spooning a bit of baby cereal into his mouth. They ate together in quiet domesticity. Derek, usually so intense, looked relaxed as he buttered a bagel and stole small bites when Stiles wasn’t looking. Stiles, in turn, couldn’t stop glancing at him, feeling that quiet thrill of contentment that always came when he was around Derek and Eli together.

Once breakfast was done and Eli was settled, Derek gave Stiles a firm but gentle pat on the shoulder. “Go on. I’ll text you if anything comes up, but enjoy your morning. Make it fun.”

Stiles hoisted the diaper bag over his shoulder and grinned. “You mean, me and Eli, right?”

Derek smirked, giving a small nod. “Yeah. Go.”

As soon as the door clicked behind them, Derek’s fingers flew across his phone. One by one, he sent texts to Erica, Boyd, Jackson, Peter, and Isaac.

Get your asses to the loft. It’s time to get ready for Stiles’ birthday.

He dropped the phone onto the counter with a sigh, stretching his shoulders. Derek’s wolf stirred at the thought of the day ahead - the pack coming together, the loft buzzing with excitement, and all the details falling into place. This party…this was going to be perfect.

Chapter Text

The Stilinski house was warm and bright that morning, the smell of coffee and bacon drifting through the air. Stiles had Eli perched on his hip, the baby babbling happily and tugging on the collar of Stiles’ hoodie while Noah moved around the kitchen with practiced ease.

“Alright, little man,” Noah said with a grin, flipping a pancake onto a plate and pointing the spatula at Eli. “You better tell the birthday boy here to slow down before he eats all your breakfast too.”

Eli laughed - a high, delighted sound - and Stiles couldn’t help but join in. He sat down at the table, carefully setting Eli in his portable seat beside him and spooning some mashed fruit into a small bowl. Human babies wouldn’t be able to eat solids yet, but Stiles learned that baby wolves weren’t the same as human babies.

“Dad,” Stiles began, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. “Can I tell you something kind of… stupid?”

Noah raised a brow and slid a cup of coffee across the table. “Kid, that’s your favorite kind of thing to tell me. Shoot.”

Stiles huffed out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think I like Derek.”

Noah blinked. “That’s not stupid at all. But…what do you mean you think?”

“Okay, I know,” Stiles admitted, laughing under his breath. “And before you say anything…it’s not weird, alright? He’s just… Derek. He’s been there. With Eli. And with me. And we’ve been spending a lot of time together and it’s-” He broke off, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. It’s good. I feel good when I’m there.”

Noah leaned back in his chair, smiling softly. “But?”

Stiles sighed. “But he’s been kind of distant lately. Quiet. Cagey. And I know Derek - well, I think I do - and he’s not always been the best at communication, but… I can’t help thinking maybe I imagined the whole thing, you know? Maybe I read too much into it.”

Eli gurgled as if responding, smacking his hands against the tray of his seat. Noah reached over to wipe a bit of fruit from his cheek before looking back at Stiles. “You’re not crazy, kid. Derek Hale might be about as emotionally expressive as a brick wall sometimes, but he’s not the kind of guy to play games. If he’s been distant, there’s probably a reason. I doubt it’s because he’s pulling away from you.”

Stiles frowned, playing with his fork. “You think?”

“I know,” Noah said firmly. “The way that man looks at you? I’d have to be blind not to see it.”

That got a laugh out of Stiles, an embarrassed, quiet one, but it loosened something in his chest. “You’re sure?”

Noah smiled, soft and sure. “Yeah, I’m sure. Derek’s steady. When he cares, he’s all in. He’s probably just… working something out. Give him a little time.”

Eli squealed then, smacking his little hand down and sending a bit of banana flying. Both Stilinskis laughed, Noah shaking his head while Stiles cleaned up the mess.

“See?” Noah said. “He likes you too. That’s two votes for you, kid.”

Stiles laughed and leaned down to nuzzle Eli’s cheek, grinning when the baby giggled again. “Yeah, okay,” he murmured softly, mostly to himself. “I’ll give him time.”

For a little while after that, it was just easy, coffee and pancakes, Eli babbling between them, and Noah teasing Stiles about burning toast. It felt good. It felt normal. And for now, Stiles let himself believe maybe his dad was right. Maybe Derek wasn’t pulling away at all.
~~~~

The loft had never seen this much chaos. Well, not since the last party anyway.

Derek stood in the middle of it all - arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes narrowed in that “I’m holding it together by a thread” kind of way - as the pack turned his normally cozy, quiet space into something resembling a party war zone.

Erica was stringing fairy lights across the beams, shouting at Boyd to “hold it higher, you giant!” while she balanced precariously on a stool. Boyd muttered something about her needing a ladder, not an attitude, earning himself a glare and a threat involving glitter.

Isaac had somehow gotten hold of balloons and a helium tank, which was already a bad idea, considering he’d inhaled enough of it to make his voice squeaky as he serenaded Jackson with a painfully off key rendition of “Happy Birthday.” Jackson’s patience lasted all of ten seconds before he yanked the balloon out of Isaac’s hand and popped it just to shut him up.

Peter was, of course, no help at all. He leaned against the counter with a smirk, sipping what was probably whiskey despite it being 11 a.m. “You know, Derek,” he said lazily, “you could have just bought a cake, lit a candle, and called it a day. Stiles isn’t exactly the extravagant type.”

“Peter,” Derek said through gritted teeth, “do something useful or get out.”

Peter raised his glass. “Supervising is useful.”

Things had settled down a lot between Derek and Peter since Eli came into their lives. It wasn’t like it was when Derek was young, but in some ways it was better. Peter was more likely to joke with Derek than to make a snide remark.

Derek wasn’t dumb. He knew a lot of that was because of Eli, but even more of it was because of Stiles and his belief that Peter had turned over a new leaf. And Stiles’ inability to let the Hale’s drift from each other any more than they already had. If Derek had a running list of all the things he was thankful towards Stiles for, helping him by loving Eli was first, followed closely by Stiles ability to bring nephew and uncle back together.

Meanwhile, Erica had found Derek’s phone playlist and was blasting something loud and upbeat while decorating the wall above the couch with a massive Happy 18th, Stiles! banner. Derek had to admit, it actually looked pretty good.

Boyd moved efficiently through the mess, setting up a food table in the corner with trays of snacks, chips, and a cake that read “You survived 18 years of chaos - congrats!” in blue frosting. He didn’t say much, but the rare grin tugging at his mouth told Derek he was enjoying himself.

Every once in a while, Derek would glance toward the door, his nerves kicking up again. Stiles could text at any moment. He could say he was coming over early, or that Eli needed something and the whole plan would be shot to hell.

“Relax,” Erica said, noticing his tension as she hopped down from the stool. “We’ve got this. He’s not coming until later, right?”

“Right,” Derek muttered, glancing at his phone again. “He’s spending the morning with his dad having birthday breakfast before Noah’s shift. Then he’ll put Eli down for his morning nap.”

“Good,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Then let’s finish this up and make sure your boyfriend has the best birthday ever.”

Derek glared. “He’s not my-”

“Yet,” Isaac chimed in, popping another balloon and grinning.

Peter chuckled into his glass. “Oh, this is adorable. Derek Hale, the brooding alpha turned domestic event planner. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Peter,” Derek said flatly, “I will throw you off the balcony.”

“Promises, promises,” Peter replied, smirking.

Despite the noise, the teasing, and Derek’s stress level hitting dangerous heights, the loft was starting to look… good. Warm. Lively. There were lights strung up across the windows, a few electric candles set out on tables, even a little pile of wrapped gifts near the couch.

Boyd finally turned off the music, the air filled with the faint hum of the lights instead. “You know,” he said quietly, looking around, “Stiles is gonna love this.”

For the first time since Stiles left that morning, Derek actually smiled - a small, soft, barely- here thing, but real. “Yeah,” he said, glancing at the banner, at the balloons, at the pack bustling around his loft. “He will”

Because, truth be told, Derek didn’t care about parties. He didn’t care about the mess, the noise, or even the decorations. He just wanted to see Stiles smile. And maybe, just maybe, to see that look in his eyes again. The one that made Derek feel like home.
~~~~

By early afternoon, the loft had transformed completely.

The cool, industrial-like space was now warm and bright again - fairy lights glowing softly against beams, balloons hovering near the ceiling, and some on the floor, the scent of cake and cinnamon drifting through the air. It felt alive in a way Derek knew Stiles would love.

Erica was fussing over the finishing touches, arranging the presents just so, while Isaac wrestled with the last stubborn streamer that refused to stay taped to the wall. Boyd was double checking the food spread - chips, sliders, cupcakes, even a plate of curly fries because of course Stiles would expect curly fries at a party he didn’t even know was happening.

Peter had switched from whiskey to coffee, but only because Derek had confiscated the bottle and muttered something about “setting a good example.” He was lounging on the arm of the couch, watching Derek pace.

“Derek,” Peter drawled, “if you walk another circle around the room, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor.”

Derek ignored him, glancing at the clock again. “They should be here soon.”

Isaac snorted. “You’ve said that every five minutes for the last hour.”

Erica smirked. “He’s nervous. It’s cute.”

“I’m not nervous,” Derek said automatically, even though everyone knew he was lying. His wolf practically vibrated with anxious energy. His hands couldn’t stay still. Every noise from the hallway made his heart jump.

It wasn’t just about the party. It was about Stiles.

The way Stiles had looked at him last night when he said goodnight - still a little hesitant, still not entirely believing that Derek wasn’t pulling away. Derek wanted today to prove him wrong. To show him that he mattered.

Peter must’ve sensed it too, because his teasing softened as he said, “He’s going to love it, Derek. The kid practically worships you. Just… breathe.”

Derek gave him a withering look but exhaled anyway, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension.
He glanced around one last time - lights perfect, table ready, gifts wrapped, cake untouched - and nodded to himself. “Okay. We’re good.”

Erica grinned and clapped. “Finally!”

Boyd checked his phone. “Noah just texted. Stiles and Eli heading this way.”

The air in the loft shifted, excitement rippling through the pack. Isaac scrambled to grab Eli’s toy basket and shove it behind the couch, while Erica turned down the lights just enough to make the fairy lights shimmer. Peter leaned back lazily, hiding his grin behind his mug.

Derek took a steadying breath. His heart was pounding in his chest.

Eli’s soft babbles echoed faintly from the hallway, Stiles’s voice following, warm and familiar, talking to the baby like he always did.

“Alright, kiddo,” Stiles was saying, footsteps growing closer. “Let’s go find your dad before you drool all over my shirt again.”

Then the door opened.

“Surprise!”

The shout echoed through the loft - overlapping voices, laughter, Isaac’s too loud yell bouncing off the walls.

Stiles froze just inside the door, eyes wide as he took everything in, the lights, the cake, the banner, the pack. For a split second, he didn’t say anything. Then his mouth fell open and his eyes welled up.

“Oh my God,” he said, voice cracking a little as he laughed. “You guys- Derek- what?”

Eli let out an excited squeal in his arms, kicking his legs, and Stiles let out a watery laugh. “Even you knew, didn’t you, buddy?”

Derek stepped forward, rubbing the back of his neck - suddenly awkward, suddenly not sure what to do with his hands. “Happy birthday, Stiles.”

Stiles looked up at him, and the smile that broke over his face nearly knocked the breath out of Derek’s chest.

It wasn’t big or loud… just soft and overwhelmed and so full of warmth that Derek felt it settle deep in his bones.

“You did all this?” Stiles asked quietly.

Derek nodded, trying to keep his voice steady. “We all did. But yeah.”

Stiles shook his head, a tear slipping down his cheek before he could stop it. “You’re ridiculous. Amazing, but ridiculous.”

Erica whooped. “Best reaction ever! Only you, Batman.”

The pack laughed, Peter raised his mug like a toast, and Eli squealed again, grabbing at Stiles’s neck as if agreeing.

And right there, in the middle of the laughter and lights, Stiles looked at Derek - really looked - and for a heartbeat, everything else fell away.

This was what home felt like.

And for Derek, seeing that light in Stiles’s eyes again was worth every sleepless night of planning.

As the noise of the party hummed behind them - laughter, plates being made, the sound of Erica trying to learn how to use the balloon pump without popping anything - Stiles tugged gently at Derek’s wrist.

“Come here for a second,” he said quietly, already giving Eli to Peter and steering Derek toward the bedroom before Derek could ask why.

The door clicked softly shut behind them, muffling the rest of the world. The bedroom was dim except for the glow of fairy lights that bled in from under the door. It smelled like Derek - cedarwood, coffee, and something warm and grounding that Stiles could never quite describe but always felt safe in.

He turned to face Derek, arms crossed, eyebrows drawn together in that messy mix of exasperation and relief.
“So,” Stiles started, “this-” he motioned vaguely toward the door, where faint laughter spilled through “-this was what all the weirdness was about? You being all quiet and distracted and- I don’t know… broody times ten?”

Derek looked sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I wanted to surprise you.”

Stiles stared at him, lips parting slightly. “God, I’m an idiot.”

“What?” Derek frowned, stepping closer.

“I thought you were pulling away,” Stiles admitted, voice breaking just a little on the edges. “You were being weird, and distant, and I started convincing myself that I’d made all this up in my head - that maybe I was the only one who-” He stopped himself before the words could tumble too far, eyes darting away. “Never mind. Just…how did I not know? You suck at lying, Derek. I should’ve known. I mean, you told me to wait until Saturday and I knew it was my birthday and I still didn’t put it together.”

Derek didn’t answer right away. He just closed the space between them, reaching out with careful, deliberate hands. One brushed against Stiles’s forearm, the other slid around his back, tugging him forward until Stiles’s chest met his.

“Hey,” Derek murmured, low and rough, “you’re not an idiot.”

Stiles let out a shaky laugh against his shoulder, one that was more like a breath than a sound. “I kinda am, though. I was so sure I’d screwed something up.”

“You didn’t,” Derek said, tightening his hold. His arms wrapped fully around Stiles now, a solid, warm embrace that pressed them together from shoulder to knee. He ducked his head slightly, resting his chin on top of Stiles’s shoulder, and exhaled slowly - as if the contact itself calmed something wild inside him.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The world outside the room could’ve fallen away, and Derek wouldn’t have noticed. All he felt was Stiles’s heartbeat against his chest, fast, uneven, human. and the way Stiles slowly melted into him, a hand fisting gently in Derek’s shirt like he didn’t want to let go.

When Stiles finally spoke, his voice was muffled against Derek’s shoulder. “You’re really good and really bad at surprises, you know that?”

Derek huffed a soft laugh, brushing his fingers over the back of Stiles’s neck. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “But it was worth it.”

“Worth it, huh?” Stiles mumbled, voice muffled and small. “You almost gave me a heart attack, dude. I thought you were-” He stopped himself again, the words catching in his throat before he could admit what he really thought. That Derek was done with him, tired of him, ready to put distance between them.

Derek leaned back just enough to look at him. “You thought I was what?”

“Nothing,” Stiles said quickly, eyes darting away. “Just me being dramatic. It’s kind of my brand.”

“Stiles.” Derek’s tone softened, and his hand came up to cradle the side of Stiles’s face, thumb brushing along his cheekbone. “You really thought I didn’t want you around?”

Stiles laughed weakly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I mean, yeah. You were acting weird, avoiding eye contact, not calling me back right away. What was I supposed to think? I was like-” He gestured vaguely with his free hand. “Maybe he’s finally realized I’m too much. Or maybe he’s sick of sharing his space with me. Or maybe-”

Derek cut him off with a quiet, almost pained sound. “No,” he said, firm but gentle. “That’s not it. Not even close.”

The sincerity in his voice made Stiles’ breath hitch. Derek’s thumb stilled against his skin, and for a moment, it felt like the world had gone still too.

“I was trying to make things perfect,” Derek admitted, voice rough around the edges. “And I didn’t think about how it might look to you. I just… wanted to do something that would make you happy. I didn’t realize I was making you doubt yourself. Doubt me.”

“You-” Stiles blinked up at him. “You wanted to make me happy?”

Derek gave a soft, self conscious huff. “That’s kind of the point of this surprise birthday party.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles muttered, half laughing, half on the verge of crying again. “You brooded your way through an entire week because you were trying to throw me a party. You are-” He shook his head, smiling helplessly. “-so bad at this.”

“Yeah,” Derek agreed, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I know.”

For a second, they just looked at each other - close enough that Stiles could see the faint flecks of gold in Derek’s irises, close enough that Derek could smell the faint hint of coffee and sugar on Stiles’s breath from the morning.

And then Stiles laughed softly, a sound full of relief and affection. “You’re an idiot,” he said.

“Probably,” Derek murmured. “But I’m an idiot who just really wanted to do something good for you.”

Stiles’s face flushed, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned back into Derek’s chest, resting his head there again with a soft hum. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, you kind of are.”

Outside the room Erica yelled, “If you two are making out in there, at least wait until we’re gone!” followed by Peter’s dry, “Oh, please, like he’d have the nerve.”

Derek groaned, burying his face in Stiles’s hair, and Stiles laughed full and bright.

It was chaotic, ridiculous, and so them.

And in that moment, wrapped in Derek’s arms, Stiles realized he didn’t need to second guess any of it anymore.

Derek kept an arm around Stiles’ waist as they stepped back out into the main room, the sound of laughter and music washing over them. The loft was alive with string lights twinkling overhead, balloons hanging unevenly thanks to Isaac’s questionable knot tying skills, and the faint scent of frosting drifting from the cake Boyd had made and decorated.

The pack erupted into cheers the moment they saw Stiles.

Erica blew a party horn right in his face, Isaac whooped loud enough to startle Eli, and Peter just raised his glass with a smirk that said, Finally.

Stiles couldn’t stop grinning, cheeks flushed from both embarrassment and warmth. “You guys. this is… okay, this is actually amazing.”

Erica swooped in to take Eli from Peter, peppering his cheeks with kisses as Boyd handed Stiles a wrapped gift that looked like it had survived a warzone. Jackson and Isaac argued over who got credit for decorating the cake (it was Boyd), while Peter muttered something about “childish chaos” before slipping another present onto the table.

Derek watched Stiles light up in the middle of it all. laughing, teasing, falling easily into the rhythm of pack energy. Every time Stiles turned toward him, Derek’s chest tightened with something steady and full. This had been worth the secrecy, worth every moment of doubt.

Eventually, Stiles made his way back to Derek, eyes bright and soft. “You really did all this?”

Derek nodded, voice low and fond. “We all did. You deserve it.”

And when Stiles leaned into him, resting his head briefly against Derek’s shoulder before being dragged off again by Erica and Isaac, Derek just let himself smile small, quiet, and completely at peace.
~~~~

Stiles had Eli balanced on his hip, the baby’s tiny hands clutching at his shirt as the party buzzed on around them. Music played low, laughter rippled through the loft.

Eli was drowsy, his head nestled against Stiles’ chest as he mumbled softly, little baby sounds that usually meant he was on the verge of sleep. Stiles swayed gently, humming some nonsense tune under his breath, more to soothe himself than the baby.

And then, clear as day, Eli lifted his head, looked up at Stiles with those wide green eyes, and said, “Dada.”

Everything stopped.

The noise from the pack faded into a muffled blur as Stiles blinked down at Eli, heart slamming into his ribs. “W-what? No, buddy. No, no, no. Derek’s Dada. Derek,” he said quickly, glancing over at Derek in full blown panic. “He’s Dada. I’m just - uh, me. Your… emotionally unhinged human?”

Eli just smiled and said it again, softer this time, like a secret. “Dada.”

Stiles froze. “Oh my God. No. This is - I’m not equipped for this level of emotional warfare.”

The pack was watching now, Erica covering her mouth to hide her grin, Isaac biting his knuckle to keep from laughing.

But Derek… Derek didn’t laugh. He just smiled. That quiet, deep, proud kind of smile that said more than words ever could. He stepped closer, brushing his hand over Eli’s back and then resting it on Stiles’ shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Derek murmured, eyes warm. “He’s right, you know.”

Stiles blinked at him, wide-eyed. “You’re not seriously-”

But Derek just chuckled under his breath, leaning in a little. “He knows who’s there with me. You’re his Dada too.”

Stiles’ throat went tight, the air catching in his chest. He tried to laugh, but it came out shaky. “You’re gonna make me cry at my own birthday party.”

Derek’s thumb brushed over his shoulder, grounding and soft. “Then I’m doing something right.”

Eli yawned, tucking himself against Stiles again, little fingers fisting in his shirt. safe, content, home.

And Stiles, for once, didn’t try to fight the feeling that maybe, just maybe, this was exactly where he belonged.

The music was still playing softly as everyone drifted closer again after Eli’s big moment. The tension melted into laughter, teasing, and good natured chaos.

Erica was the first to speak, grinning ear to ear. “Well,” she said, raising her drink, “guess we know who the favorite parent is.”

“Erica,” Stiles groaned, still a little pink in the face as he shifted Eli in his arms. “Don’t make this weird.”

“It’s already weird,” Isaac said, smirking from his spot by the couch. “You’re holding your not-kid who just called you Dad while standing next to his actual dad who looks like he’s about to melt. I think we passed weird about fifteen minutes ago.”

Derek shot him a look that could’ve melted steel. “You want to help him by bringing presents or you want to mop the floor?”

Isaac immediately grabbed a wrapped box. “Presents it is.”

Erica bounced on her toes. “Mine first!”

Stiles laughed, juggling Eli to one arm while taking the small box she thrust at him. He peeled back the wrapping paper and froze. Inside was a sleek, black travel mug with "World’s Most Exhausted Dad" etched into the side in shiny silver.

“Erica,” Stiles said flatly.

“What?” she said innocently. “It’s functional and accurate. I’m thoughtful like that.”

Everyone laughed, even Derek, quiet but unmistakably fond.

Next came Boyd, who handed over a small box with an awkward shrug. “Didn’t really know what to get, so…”

Inside was a keychain - a simple metal one engraved with a wolf cub and the initials S.S.

Stiles blinked at it, touched. “Boyd, this is…actually perfect.”

“Yeah, well,” Boyd muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, “you lose your keys too much. This has a chip in it, you can track it with an app on your phone.”

“Love you too, big guy.”

Peter sauntered forward next, handing Stiles a neatly wrapped gift bag tied with a ribbon that looked like it came from a luxury store. “For when you’re finally ready to stop looking like a hobo who slept through life.”

Stiles pulled out a deep green cashmere sweater. “Wow,” he said, genuinely stunned. “Peter, this is-”

“Expensive,” Erica cut in.

“-way too nice for me,” Stiles finished, ignoring her. “Seriously, thank you.”

Peter just smirked. “You’re welcome. Try not to spill baby food on it. It’s dry clean only.”

Isaac’s gift was next - a baby carrier, navy blue with soft padding. “So you stop trying to carry Eli and your laptop at the same time like you have eight arms,” he said.

Stiles grinned. “You’re saving my back. I might cry.”

“You already almost did earlier,” Isaac teased.

Then Jackson, pretending to be disinterested, shoved a small box toward him. “It’s not a big deal,” he said, too quickly.

Stiles opened it to find a framed photo of himself, Derek, and Eli sitting on the couch one lazy afternoon. He didn’t even remember anyone taking it.

“Jackson,” Stiles said softly.

Jackson just shrugged. “Erica made me pick a sentimental one. Don’t make it weird.”

“Too late,” Stiles said, smiling so wide it hurt. “It’s perfect.”

And finally, Derek handed him a small box. It was simple, wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with twine.

Stiles set Eli on his lap and opened it carefully. Inside was a handmade leather bracelet, dark brown and stamped with a small rune he didn’t recognize on one side and the Hale triskelion on the other.

“It’s for protection,” Derek said quietly.

Stiles swallowed hard, brushing his thumb over the smooth surface. “It’s beautiful,” he said softly. “Thank you, Derek.”

Derek’s eyes softened. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do, though,” Stiles murmured.

Erica clapped her hands. “Okay, everyone stop being emotional! Cake time before Stiles starts crying again!”

“Hey!” Stiles protested, laughing even as his eyes shimmered.

The lights dimmed, candles were lit, and the pack’s voices rose in a chaotic, off key version of Happy Birthday. Eli clapped his tiny hands and drooled on Stiles’ shirt yet again, Derek smiled like he hadn’t in years, and Stiles - warm, loved, surrounded - realized this was the best birthday he’d ever had.
~~~~

By the time Noah arrived at the loft after his shift, the party had calmed down. The pack was lounging on couches, some cleaning up, some still chatting, but the energy had softened into the comfortable buzz of close friends and family.

Noah walked in, still in his sheriff uniform, tired from his shift but with a wide smile on his face. “Hey, kiddo. Happy Birthday” he said, his eyes sweeping over the scene before landing on Stiles.

Stiles practically ran to him, still holding Eli in his arms. “Dad! You made it!”

“Of course I made it,” Noah said, kneeling to hug Stiles properly. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He glanced down at Eli, who was batting at his dad’s badge with tiny fists. “And hi there, little man. Look at you, already causing chaos at parties I see.”

Stiles laughed, setting Eli down gently. “He’s just excited.”

Noah’s attention shifted to Derek, who was standing quietly by the kitchen counter, a little sheepish. “And you,” Noah said, stepping forward and grabbing Derek in a firm, grateful hug. “Thank you. Thank you for taking care of him, for caring about him, for… not pulling away when he worried you might. You have no idea what that means to me as his dad.”

Derek froze, stiff at first, then relaxed into the hug, murmuring, “Of course. Stiles… he’s… he’s important.”

Noah pulled back just enough to look Derek in the eye. “Important? Yeah. And you treating him like he’s your world? That’s something I’ll always be grateful for. For you being here. For Eli, for… everything. Don’t ever think you’re intruding in his life - you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

Derek’s lips pressed into a small, grateful smile, and he nodded once. “I… I won’t forget that.”

Stiles, standing beside them, felt his chest swell. He knew for sure now that Derek liked him. But seeing his dad acknowledge it so openly… it made everything feel real, solid, and safe. Stiles hugged his dad again, then Derek, and even Eli wiggled happily in his arms as if sensing the warm, protective energy around them.

Noah pulled back from the hug, placing a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, Derek. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Derek simply nodded, letting himself be acknowledged, letting himself feel… like part of a family he’d never expected to have.

Stiles beamed, brushing Eli’s hair from his face. “This… this is perfect.”

Noah smiled at him knowingly. “Yeah, kid. It really is.”
~~~~

The loft gradually quieted as the last of the pack said their goodbyes. The laughter and chatter faded, leaving only the soft hum of the city outside and the faint scent of cake and leftover food. Derek and Stiles found themselves in the living room, Eli nestled in Stiles’ arms, his tiny fingers curling around Stiles’ thumb as he yawned.

Stiles sank into the couch, exhausted but glowing. “I can’t believe… everyone was here,” he murmured, staring down at Eli. “I didn’t even know half of what was going on, and somehow… it was perfect.”

Derek sat beside him, one arm draped around the back of the couch, the other reaching over to brush a stray lock of hair from Stiles’ face. “You deserve it,” Derek said softly. “You’ve done so much for Eli, for me… for everyone. Tonight was for you.”

Stiles smiled weakly, still overwhelmed. “I… I just… I didn’t want to think about what today was going to be like. My birthday feels like just another day now… but tonight…” His voice faltered as he looked down at Eli, whose eyes blinked sleepily, gazing up at Stiles with perfect trust. “…tonight was amazing.”

Derek leaned closer, voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to think about everything yet. Just… this moment. We’ve got this little one, and we’ve got each other.”

Stiles let out a small laugh, a mixture of relief and awe, and rested his head against Derek’s shoulder. “Yeah… okay. This works.”

Eli squirmed slightly and nuzzled into Stiles’ chest, letting out a soft coo. Derek smiled, his hand moving to rest over Stiles’ on Eli, forming a triangle of warmth and protection. For the first time that evening, everything felt like it could stay exactly as it was. safe, soft, and entirely theirs.

They sat like that for a long moment, the three of them tangled together in a quiet bubble, the chaos of the world outside the loft completely irrelevant. Stiles let himself relax, finally letting go of all the worry about birthdays, change, and the future. Here, with Derek and Eli, he was exactly where he belonged.

The nursery was quiet, Eli finally asleep in his crib, the soft rise and fall of his chest a soothing rhythm in the dim light. Stiles straightened after tucking the blanket around him and glanced at Derek. “Can we… talk? In the living room?” His voice was tentative, but there was a weight to it.

Derek nodded, gentle but steady, and they moved to the couch in the living room. Stiles sat on the edge, hands clasped tightly in his lap, while Derek eased onto the couch beside him, giving him space without ever truly letting it feel like too much.

“I… I like you,” Stiles began, and the words tumbled out in a rush, a mix of fear and relief. “Like… really like you. I want this. I want to build a life with you, Derek. I want Eli and… us. And I just… I need to know you want that too.”

The room fell quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside. Derek’s hand reached for Stiles’, curling over his fingers with an easy warmth. “Stiles,” he said, voice low and steady, “I want that more than I’ve ever wanted anything. More than anything I’ve ever fought for.”

Stiles froze for a moment, trying to process the words, the intensity behind them. Derek’s eyes held his own with a gravity that made the words real, solid, undeniable. “I… I’ve been waiting,” Derek admitted, “waiting for you to turn eighteen, waiting until it was the right time for you. But it’s always been there, Stiles. Every moment I’ve spent with you since Eli was born… it’s been here.”

Stiles let out a shaky laugh, half disbelief, half relief, and leaned in, resting his forehead against Derek’s. “So it’s not just me then?”

“No,” Derek said firmly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Stiles’ head. “It’s us. All of it. And I don’t want to waste another second pretending otherwise.”

For the first time in months, Stiles felt the tension, the fear, the gnawing uncertainty dissolve. He smiled, exhaling a long, shaky breath. “Then let’s… just… do this. All of it. Together.”

Derek squeezed his hand, eyes soft but alight with something fierce. “Together,” he agreed. And in the quiet of the loft, with Eli sleeping peacefully, they let themselves feel it - the full weight and wonder of what was finally, finally theirs.

Stiles’ chest felt like it was both soaring and sinking all at once. He’d waited so long to say the words, to hear Derek say them back, and now that it was real, it all felt too big, too immediate, too vulnerable. He was nervous, heart hammering in his chest, stomach twisting in that familiar way that made him feel both giddy and completely exposed.

“Uh… Derek?” His voice was soft, almost hesitant. “Is… would it be… weird if I… kissed you right now?” He fumbled over the words, cheeks heating, eyes darting to Derek’s, then back to the floor, then back again. “I… I just really want to. To kiss you and… cuddle and just… feel you close.”

Derek’s gaze softened, a quiet, understanding warmth that melted some of the tension in Stiles’ chest. “It wouldn’t be weird,” Derek said quietly. “It’d be exactly what I want too.”

Stiles swallowed hard, heart hammering like a drum, before leaning forward just slightly, bridging the tiny gap between them. The first brush of Derek’s lips against his sent a shockwave of warmth through him. It was gentle, careful, exploratory at first, like testing the waters, and Stiles melted into it instantly, sighing softly against Derek.

The kiss deepened, just a little, and Stiles felt his knees weaken, the world narrowing to the warmth of Derek’s body pressed against his and the taste of him. His hands tentatively found Derek’s arms, gripping lightly, needing to anchor himself, needing to feel this realness, this closeness. Every little brush of lips, every soft inhale, made his heart feel impossibly full, impossibly alive.

Pulling back just slightly, foreheads touching, Stiles whispered, breath hitching, “I’ve wanted that forever.”

Derek’s thumb brushed along Stiles’ cheek as he murmured back, “Me too. Every single day.”

Stiles let out a shaky, happy laugh, leaning in again, pressing himself closer, wrapping his arms around Derek, wanting to hold onto the moment, to the safety and heat and absolute certainty of it.
~~~~

The only sounds in the loft was the soft clatter of plates and silverware being stacked and the rustle of gift bags being folded away. Stiles and Derek moved through the aftermath of the party together, an easy rhythm forming between them despite the lingering, unspoken tension of new feelings. Every now and then, their hands would brush against one another…brief, accidental touches that sent tiny jolts up Stiles’ arm and made Derek pause, just for a second, before smiling softly and moving on.

Once the last bit of cleanup was done, they finally let themselves collapse onto the bed. It felt both intimate and tentative, like stepping into new territory without a map. They curled up close but not too close, the kind of closeness where you could kiss but weren’t ready to cross any further lines. Stiles rested against Derek’s side, the warmth grounding him, while Derek’s arm hovered over him, protective but careful.

“I… I’m sorry,” Stiles said quietly after a few moments, his voice thick with the lingering excitement and exhaustion of the day. “About… Eli calling me Dada earlier.”

Derek tilted his head slightly, brushing a stray strand of hair from Stiles’ forehead. “Stiles, you have nothing to apologize for,” he said softly. “I knew it would happen someday. And… God, the way it made me feel…” His voice faltered for a moment, because there weren’t words that could capture it. The swell of protectiveness, pride, and affection he felt toward both Eli and Stiles was something beyond language. “It’s… incredible.”

Stiles let out a shaky breath, a mixture of relief and happiness, and nuzzled closer. Derek shifted just enough to let him settle against his chest, neither of them speaking, letting the quiet of the loft wrap around them. The kiss they shared was soft, lingering, more a seal of closeness than a step forward, because they both needed to savor this new stage.

Eli, finally asleep in his crib, let them have the room, a gentle reminder that the little life they were both drawn to tied them together in a way nothing else could. And as they lay there, side by side, the weight of the day, the party, and everything that had been unsaid melted away, leaving only warmth, safety, and a sense of something quietly unstoppable beginning between them.